La Guerra Eterna
by LinkIsaacANDLloyd
Summary: Discontinued. This is the old version of 'What Must Be Done'. If you really like that fic, then maybe check this out just for the hell of it. Its a pretty good read I've been told.
1. A New Enemy

-AN: This story is under VEEEERY temporary hiatus. Please read the announcement in chapter eleven for more details. So why don't you just review what there is so far while you're here?

Disclaimer: All things related to Tales of Symphonia are property of Namco. All things related to Warhammer 40,000 are property of Games Workshop.

-

_In a time, long ages before the elves first set foot upon Symphonia, long before Derris-Kharlan had even been constructed, others had found the world, pristine and beautiful, unmarred by civilization. _

_These were humans, from a time ancient beyond reckoning, from Mother Earth itself, the heart of mankind. They came, and with their technology, forged for themselves a paradise that befit their visions of a perfect utopia._

_For thousands of years, they lived in peace and harmony, untouched by war or sorrow, as was the rest of mankind. _

_But, one day, a race older than the oldest ancestors of humanity fell to its desires. With the blood of their people running so deep in the streets of their cities, and spilling so thickly into the oceans of their worlds, they, by their own hand, met their end. _

_A few of them abandoned their fellows, whom were consumed by their sex and savagery, to pursue a peaceful path. They built mighty ships, craftworlds, as large as planets, and left. But not soon enough._

_All of the psychic energy built up by their shameless decadence and unchecked emotions created a mighty daemonic god of the warp, whose birth cries ripped the souls from hundreds of billions of their people, sending their race into a chaotic downspin of tragedy and desperation. Their power gone, those few still surviving struck out on different paths. Many escaped before this tragic event on great ships known as craftworlds. These planet sized vessels, crafted from wraithbone, ferried billions of faithful away from their decadent brethren._

_Some, like a craftworld known as Derris-Kharlan, were sucked into the warp when this dark god, Slaneesh, was born. Drifting for centuries, the precious few survivors within Derris-Kharlan managed to escape the warp at last, and then come across Symphonia.  
_

_Fighting the native humans in a savage war, the psychic power from both sides proved to be so powerful, that the entire make up of the world began to fall apart. The humans living there were forced to start over from scratch, and the others were forced to take measures to ensure the planet was not torn to pieces as a warp storm engulfed the space around it and the craftworld, sealing it away from all the horrors of the countless savage wars that raged throughout the galaxy in the years to come..._

_And so it has remained for nearly ten thousand years..._

-

It had been the pride of Cruxis. The mighty hulk of ancient mana that was Derris-Kharlan. Inexhaustible in its energies, it gave life to the madness of Mithos, and sustained his legions of deathless servants, for whom there was nothing in life but to serve his every ambition.

Technologies the likes of which had been lost upon Symphonia since before the great Kharlan War had been locked away throughout its depths, their surreal power furthering the madness of Mithos. Armed with powers ancient and deadly beyond compare, he sought to instill his regime across the entirety of the planet.

For four thousand years he plotted and schemed, his personality split between the carefree youth that existed the day his sister had died, and sought to bring her back, and the insane, cruel, and cunning corruption that was known as Yggdrasil, who was hell bent on building some kind of empire. He took his pain and spread it to those around him, sucking them dry of all hope and promise.

With his followers zombie like in their actions and his will unopposed amongst them, he erected Welgaia within the ruins of the once great Derris-Kharlan. It was true, the elves had left it and went to Symphonia, but no one ever knew just exactly what Derris-Kharlan was, or where it had come from.

Whatever it was truly meant for, to Mithos, it was his everything. It was his salvation. There were no humans or elves there, only himself and his servants. It was all he could have ever asked for. So there, on that ancient and hallowed ground, was born the madness that nearly consumed the world.

In fact, had Kratos not felt but a moments pity for the victims of the harsh regime, the world would likely be destroyed by now, or at least twisted into a shape befitting the madness of Yggdrasil. The anger of Mithos at his sister's rejection of everything he had created drove him over the breaking point, and he tried to leave, along with the Great Seed and all of Symphonia's hope for survival.

But disaster had been averted all because Kratos, thought to be the most capable and uncompromising follower of Mithos' views, had fallen for a lowly piece of human ranch scum. But not just any lowly scum. The scum that carried within her the Angelus Project. From there, the rest was history.

And even though he was never a history buff, Kratos couldn't stop replaying the events in his head over and over again. Martel, Mithos, Anna, Kvar, Yuan, Lloyd and the rest. The names and faces would not leave him be. Though he didn't complain.

Trapped as he was, within the confines of Derris-Kharlan, with tens of thousands of lifeless beings the only things for company, he savored every moment his mind granted him visages of those he had cared for. Those he still cared for.

"Five years..." he sighed, gazing out at the emptiness of space, catching glimpses of the tiny shreds of debris that had become trapped with the orbit of the great construct fly by. "Five years. I wonder what's become of it all. Everything I had once worked so hard to destroy, only to father its savior. I can hardly imagine..."

He pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes as he squinted out into the blackness, searching for it. Several minutes passed, his immobile form looking akin to a statue save for the scat movement of his eyes. Then, suddenly, they went wide, and he took a step forward, almost leaning against the large, slanted glass that ran along the distance of the corridor.

Off in the distance, he could make it out. Barely, but surely. There was Symphonia. Shining bright as it reflected its sun's light in the vastness of space. It warmed his lonely heart simply to be able to see it, despite the memories that he wished never to relive coming to the surface.

In a moment though, it was gone, the tiny light that was Symphonia. Kratos' heart sunk when it went, and he slumped down to the ground in the narrow corridor, staring out the window with a distant and stoic expression upon his face. He couldn't help but wonder why the universe had to be so cruel to him.

Standing up quickly, he mentally scolded himself for doubting even for a moment his reason for being here. It was his fault Mithos had nearly destroyed everything that was good and pure on Symphonia. He owed it to Lloyd, Anna, Martel, even Mithos, and the rest, to see that the powers of Derris-Kharlan never again fell into the wrong hands.

With his old resolution once again burning strong and bright within his mind, he turned to leave for the upper levels. At least he could train there, to stave off a little of the boredom that plagued him. The strange weapons they had uncovered, left over by the ancient elves no doubt, were quite interesting to behold and use.

Confident that he would feel better after _pretending_ to kill things, he went on his way, walking along the narrow passage towards the nearest lift. At least, that's what he knew them to be called. In truth, there was no way a lift could possibly move one around such a massive place as Derris-Kharlan as fast as they seemed to, so he expected that they actually were some kind of teleportation devices. But, in the end, as long as they worked, he didn't care.

Out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention out in space. Now, this was a surprise to him as much as it would be to anyone else. For, what could possibly be interesting enough in space to stop a stoic and generally uncaring man such as Kratos dead in his tracts?

But there was something there. And it was moving, fast. It looked to the Seraphim like an asteroid of some kind, but it appeared to be moving way to fast for that. That and there were hundred of them, and a faint white glow behind each. Had that been what he took to be Symphonia? Though tiny in comparison to the hulking might of Derris-Kharlan, Kratos knew that such a large amount of them could seriously damage a lot of valuable equipment.

Now running towards the lift, or teleporter, Kratos was knocked forcibly to the ground as a mighty shaking took hold of Derris-Kharlan. It continued for several minutes, ending with a tremendous crunch as something smashed through apparently just above him. Despite the risk of being sucked out into the vacuum, he got on the lift and set himself to be taken to the nearest damaged area.

-

Cursing under his breath as he ran through the corridors towards the balcony overlooking his intended destination, Kratos was quite worried. He had tried to go through the lift, but was unable. That could only mean one thing: whatever had hit them was quite large and was blocking the lift in that area. Or worse, it had completely demolished it.

Climbing a small ramp, he emerged onto a balcony. He was taken aback by the mass of space rock that greeted him, filling his entire vision. So it had been an asteroid. He was somewhat relieved to at least know what it was that had hit them.

Looking up to see how high its bulk stretched, he saw Derris-Kharlan stretching away beyond what his eyes could see, balconies such as the one he was on jutting out every level all the way from the top to the bottom, hundreds of miles of them up and down. And it was all white, except for the occasional red or blue glow of lighting here and there. It made him dizzy to try and take it all in, even after seeing the sight thousands of times throughout his long life.

There were a few score Kharlan Guards standing around, seemingly unbothered by the great rock as they stood ready in battle formation. Wondering why they were preparing for battle, he found out as soon as he took one step forward.

There was a very strange mana signature emanating from the asteroid. In fact, thousands of strange mana signatures. Hand going to his sword sheathed at his side, he knew something terrible was about to occur. Something, he sensed, that would change the fate of millions. Perhaps even alter everything that had been worked so hard for on Symphonia? He would not let that happen. He would sacrifice his life to make it so.

Walking to the head of the formation, he turned to count his forces. He found it difficult though, as they all looked the same, dressed from head to toe in black plate and all bearing black wings. In fact, the only variation amongst them was weaponry, and even that was pretty redundant. He estimated at least eighty, though there were many more flooding onto the balcony from where he had come.

"My Lord Kratos." An angel approached him slowly, speaking in its hollow and monotonous voice. "Two hundred other objects similar to this one have embedded themselves throughout various levels of Derris-Kharlan. The Kharlan Guard is gathering at each and standing their ground. The Seraph Guard are positioning themselves at the largest of these anomalies. The entirety of our forces await further action from these 'space rocks' or orders from you, Lord Kratos."

Nodding slowly, Kratos was now very worried. Two hundred of these massive asteroids. Each filled with, at best guess, several thousand, life forms emanating very troubling mana signatures. But the angel had said some were larger then the others. It all added up to pretty much scream of danger waiting in the wings. He prayed silently to whatever deity there might be watching over them and hoped whatever was inside the rocks was not hostile.

Turning back around to face the asteroid, he suddenly was confused as to why they weren't being sucked out into space. Then he remembered Derris-Kharlan's self repair abilities. Glad to put that worry from mind, he grimly realized some less fortunate individuals must have been sucked out when the asteroids first hit.

A small crack appeared suddenly on the asteroid, catching Kratos' attention instantly and breaking the chilling silence as small pieces rolled down onto the gleaming white floor. Narrowing his eyes, Kratos gripped his sword's hilt even tighter as the crack grew larger and larger.

Then, the portion around the crack collapsed on itself, forming a rather large hole through which several men could fit. A massive green clawed hand came out, grabbing the edge and pulling up.

Kratos' first impression was that of surprise, but it soon turned to horror, and the creature staring at him through its beady black eyes from where it stood on the edge of the hole, was indeed horrific. It possessed a very pronounced lower jaw, massive and razor sharp teeth, two capable of being classified as tusks, overlapping its upper jaw. Its ears were tiny, and its nose had a pig like quality to it.

But by far its most prominent feature, was its green skin. Literally all of the creature, from its arms, which were so bulging with muscles they were almost thicker than Kratos was wide, to its legs. It was surprisingly well garbed for such a barbaric looking thing though, with thick armor covering much its abdomen and chest, and even a pair of tattered pants of sorts and boots of some kind. What worried Kratos though, was not just the gore covered axe with a blade as wide as his arm was long, but the fact that though it was hunched over and putting its weight on its knuckles, if it were to stand up fully, it would be nearly nine feet tall.

Both Kratos and the beast stared at one another for almost a minute, as if both were unsure what to do next. Even the normally stoic angels looked somewhat tense in the presence of the strange creature.

Suddenly, the creature opened its mouth and let lose with a loud and guttural war cry, which pierced through the air and echoed off into the vastness of Derris-Kharlan.. To Kratos' horror, it was joined by the simultaneous shouts of what sounded like _thousands_ of others from within the asteroid and even more echoing down from above.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!"

Kratos drew his sword in a flash as the monster leapt off the asteroid, followed by what literally looked like a sea of green as its kin followed from the hole.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!!!" Kratos found it impossible to suppress a shudder when he heard the even louder and more crazed rendition of the war cry. Eve so, he composed himself quickly, ready even in the face of intense horror to fight to the death. Such a reaction is expected of those who live for four thousand years though, fighting almost non stop throughout the entirety of their long life.

"Angels! Charge!"

Kratos ran across the small expanse of ground between him and the massive tide of monsters, meeting the first one half-way and ducking under its clumsy blow and driving his sword up to the hilt into its stomach. Wrenching it out, he swung in front of himself blindly, luckily blocking the blow from one armed with a vicious claw weapon that crackled with an eerie arcane power much like electricity. Or maybe all it was, was electricity. He didn't right know or care.

Using all his might, Kratos forced the beast back, driving forward at it as it stumbled backwards in an attempt to recover. Planting a boot on its left thigh, he leapt clear over its head, spinning as he fell behind it with his sword. Landing easily on his feet, arm straight out with sword held the same way, he rose slowly as the beast collapsed with a cry of rage, its back shredded and gushing black blood.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the angels decimating the beasts with the advantage of their long spears. But just the same, the monsters were wont to simply yank the spears away or snap them in half, rendering them useless. It all came down pretty well balanced, except the fact that they were hopelessly outnumbered by the things.

Driving forward sword first, he used his momentum to skewer one through the throat. Planting a boot on its chest, he tugged his blade free and stumbled backward, slashing outwards to score a near fatal blow on another. Regaining his footing, he launched himself at the wounded monster, carving into its abdomen with a brutal hacking blow.

Three angels flew over him, dive-bombing the monsters with their spears and launching magic at them, creating quite a disruption in their ranks as the beasts tried to flee from the flames the angels poured on them. Many of the angels were doing the same thing, tearing into the ranks of the foul creatures very effectively. What they lacked in strength, the angels certainly made up for with their magic. Kratos took heart to see them faring so well despite the odds.

But his heart sank into his stomach when he beheld the sight of all the angels in the air suddenly begin falling to the ground, their blood splattering violently as if they had been struck by some tremendous blow.

Cringing at the screams, the only sound an angel might make to prove that it really was alive, he battled fiercely against the oncoming tide even as they were now outnumbered even more incredibly with the loss of so many angels in the air.

Slicing into one's hamstrings, he followed up with kick to its abdomen, sending it sprawling on the ground where an angel swiftly plunged its spear into its chest. Said angel keeled over uselessly as its head was shredded to a bloody pulp by a monster with a crackling claw weapon like the one Kratos had seen earlier. Crying out in anger, he carved a vicious uppercut in front of him, badly wounding the angel's killer and rendering its left arm useless as it hung on by a thread. He then brought his sword down onto its skull with both hands, splitting the creature's head wide open.

Turning to face the sound of a loud snarl behind him, he saw one of the monsters holding a strange weapon, which, from what he could guess, was pointed at him. But it possessed no blade, no edge with which to cut. It could be a form of club, but the creature sure was holding it wrong if that was the case.

It was long, about a meter, and wide, just an inch or so short of a foot. A smaller opening at the end which was pointed at him showed no sign of any threat, just an empty hole which seemed to travel through the length of the thing. A rectangular protrusion and what looked like a tiny trigger were placed near the other end. The monster laughed quite madly, and pulled the trigger.

There was a loud and sudden series of cracks from the weapon, and the next thing Kratos felt was searing agony in his arms, chest, and abdomen. Soon after, before he blacked out from the pain, he felt the warmth of his blood oozing down his sides as someone grabbed him beneath the armpits and lifted him into the air, the sound of the crazed beast's weapon still ringing in his ears as the screams of the angels below grew increasingly quiet.


	2. A Look Into the Warp

I wrote this awhile ago while I was pretty tired. And its really long, so I don't feel like going over it again and again to make it all pretty and perfect. So if there's anything wrong with it that you feel may just be my error, let me know and I'll tidy it up quick like.

Don't be put off by the fact that this chapter is entirely 40K based, either. I think its pretty damn cool from what I can remember of writing, plus you get introduced to a rather nasty antagonist.

**-**

The pulsing purples of the walls threw an eerie glow that laced their hundreds of feet long shadows as they stretched out onto the barren wastes of the flatlands, providing shade for those daemons whose only other option was to die beneath a scorching sun in mid-day, or what would pass for mid-day, heat.

Those tiny daemons, little bigger than a small dog for the most part, snoozed lazily, safe from their larger predatory brethren in the shade, soon began to rouse from their slumber as the heat began its slow descent towards barely livable sub-zero. Such was the nature of any daemon world. All the extremes and no respite.

Such was the daily routine for the savage creatures though, to go out and hunt by the frigid temperatures. If they were lucky, then even smaller and weaker daemons would be stranded out in the cold. Otherwise, they would just turn on each other like they usually did.

Tiredly, a lone male cultist leaned against the battlements of the wall, looking down at the daemons and across the plains with scant interest. He was dejected, angry with his lot in life. He worshipped his god, he gave his god sacrifice, he gave his god all that his mortal soul could offer.

Yet there he found himself, stuck with the most dead end of positions in his cult. Guard duty. What was he, some kind of weakling Guardsman? So what if he had been at some point? So what if he still had some of the lies the Imperial dogs drilled into his brain coming to mind every now and then? He was above that lowly labor now, or at least he had hoped he would be.

Gazing down the wall again, he was surprised to see all the daemons gone, scattered about like sand grains in the wind. This was a shock to him, as generally it took them an hour or so to finally move out and start their hunting. What could make them flee so suddenly?

Suddenly, the sky above him went dark as a shadow fell over him, the twin suns blotted out by some great object. Looking up cautiously, his scream of terror was caught in his throat as it came towards him, all the tons of its bulk behind it.

Crushing the man under one of its cloven hooves, the Bloodthirster crashed through the bulk of the wall, landing in a heap amongst the rubble. All eyes of those within the walls and outside the tower were on the greater daemon as it threw off the remnants of the wall and advanced on them with a lusting thirst for blood in its eyes.

Immediately it lashed out with its whip towards the largest and nearest group of cultists, knocking back and killing scores more hapless men before they fully realized a greater daemon of Khorne had truly just landed inside their fortress and it was not an illusion. Those around the crumbled section of the wall were either dead or fleeing, and the massive daemon scanned ahead of it for more ideal targets. It saw them, many of them, near the base of the tremendous tower just a few hundred meters ahead. Probably almost a thousand cultists coming to the defense of their paradise.

Grinning as much as any daemon of Khorne was physically capable, it strode forward, hunched very slightly over with its wings poised to give it flight on a moments notice. It was met halfway by a huge, if sadly weak and inaccurate, salvo of fire as hundreds of wailing and crazed men charged from their position in the center of the large walled complex, letting lose with the measly firepower of their out of date and barely working weaponry.

All but ignoring the pathetic attacks, the daemon swung out its massive axe, countless of men as it advanced with an unnatural and psychotic pace towards the massive construct that stood so forebodingly at odds with the stark and dead landscape that stretched for many kilometers in all directions. It didn't get very far, however, despite its literal massacre of most of the cultists with hardly any effort.

The entire citadel flashed a brilliant purple as the worshippers inside brought about a massive climax of heretical pleasures, pleasing their foul deities and gaining a measure of their blessing. A tremendous hail of warp energy fired from the top spire of the citadel and tore through the Bloodthirster rapidly as it fired again and again, punching numerous holes into its chest as it sank into the very earth, rimmed by red warp fire. It roared out in anger, so enraged to be bested by servants of Slaneesh that it swung towards the citadel with its axe as if in a final, desperate attempt to strike it, before it was pulled under and banished to the deepest reaches of the warp once more.

A large procession of men snuck cautiously outside only moments later, examining the ground intently. When no sign of further incursion by the servants of Khorne could be seen, they let out a scream of victory, their shrill voices carrying far through the bleak atmosphere of the daemon world.. The assembled group soon grew to include the various heretical slaves and daemons blessed to the cult by Slaneesh himself, quickly growing to number in the hundreds. Filled with their god's blessings they fell upon each other and the bodies of their fallen comrades, the whispers of Slaneesh urging them onward as they all descended into a giant and undistinguishable orgy of increasingly maddening pleasure.

The servants of Khorne however, were not to take lightly the slaying of their master's blessing; one of his greater daemons, with which they could have spilled endless blood in his name. In fact, they were quite displeased, their maniacal and insane thirsts for blood now reaching a breaking a point. But for once, they stalled, for he was present that day, and he there was a measure of tactical finesse to be had amongst the maniacs for a change.

All the action before the citadel stopped as the tremendous whirring of many chain axes powering up sounded loud and clear through the tainted air outside the wall, carrying through the breach caused by the Bloodthirster. Some of the cultists and daemonic entities retreated into the citadel wailing in terror, but the rest stood dumbly looking around, unsure of what to do or what was coming as they remained in whatever grotesque or strange position they had been in before they heard the noise. Then they saw him.

Standing tall at the breach made by the Bloodthirster, the chosen of Khorne had gathered for the ensuing slaughter. Before them stood the sight that drove many of the unstable heretics insane. Kharn the Betrayer had come, it was unmistakable. He was their death given life...their death incarnate.

Large horns from his helmet, massive pauldrons, and the skull of Khorne on the knees of his ancient armor. On his shoulder was the badge of the World Eaters, the skull of Khorne eating a world. Nearly every inch was pockmarked with countless burns and dents, cuts and penetrations. Most pulsed with ruinous energy, the lacking of any real mechanical prowess that he trusted within the Eye forcing him to resort to patching it up with daemonic power. There was not a word spoken by either side, as he raised his plasma pistol, the ancient device dating back to before the great Heresy but still glowing eerily with super-heated death awaiting his targets.

He fired, any recoil that the gun may have made doing nothing what so ever to move his massive bulk as a brilliant purple glow seared the flesh from a random target, melting its flesh and bones and killing it near instantly. It wasn't how he preferred to kill, but it was gruesome enough that he didn't forsake the method entirely. With a light chuckle, he powered up Gorechild, the mighty daemon-possessed chain axe straining against his vice like grip to get at the enemy with an eagerness that could almost be said to belittle his own. Turning his head to look over his shoulder, a task not as simple as it would sound given the bulk of his armour, he took in his assembled followers with scant interest, seeing them as little more than cannon fodder for the enemy while he slaughtered mercilessly. Whether they killed or died, he really didn't give a damn at all. There were always more eager to serve Khorne, after all.

He holstered his pistol and raised Gorechild overheard as he turned back to look at the horrified men before the citadel, roaring madly as the berserkers of Khorne behind him followed along in grossly perfect unison that chilled to the very core even the insane men and daemons before them.

"**BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!**"

With that the cult's fate was sealed. Kharn and his berserkers charged forward, chain axes abuzz like a swarm of crazed insects out for blood as the horrified men finally realized they were going to die. Despite this reality seeking in, instinct took over from the depths of the human worshippers minds and they fled, crying out to their god for salvation while the daemons stood their ground. There was a tense silence, split only by the random yells of Kharn's followers, as they closed the gap between them and their prey.

Barely holding onto what little sanity they had left, the chosen of Khorne put on an inhuman burst of speed at the last moment, their chain axes biting deep and tearing flesh like it was paper as they laid into the foe. The daemons issued no screams, much to the displeasure of their killers. Not even Kharn could draw a scream from his victims' lips. It was to be expected though, as they were daemons. Human worshippers, now there was a foe worth the killing, if only for the pleasure they brought through their ceaseless ability to please by their own suffering. They screamed so well, and pleased so well, it was almost ludicrous.

It was then that Kharn and the rest of his entourage noticed the fleeing men and women of the cult heading for the opposite wall where a small postern gate was scantly visible. They were all so small and weak, so tiny and insignificant. And they were running, running away from them. As far as Kharn was concerned, that would just not do. 

Leaping over the brutal melee between traitor marine and daemon, Kharn brought the fleeing prey to the attention of a few other more sane of his followers, and they broke off from the fight, trailing deathly silent as their chain axes lied dormant. Even Gorechild had gone quiet, its daemonic mind understanding the need for stealth in order to fulfill a great deal of terror and pain upon the enemy that would bring a sense of pleasure rarely felt from slaying daemons and other traitor marines.

Sneaking with amazing silence up to the rear of the fleeing pack, so close they could hear their ragged breathing, Kharn and his retinue leapt high into the air, daemonic and genetic gifts granting them insane powers of physical prowess.

They came crashing down right in the center of the tiny horde, turning their chain axes back on the second before they brought the heads down on their chosen targets, causing the previously quiet air that was filled only with the faint sounds of battle on the other side of the tower to erupt with a cacophony of wild screams and whirring chain axes, of rending flesh and many gallons of blood pouring like so much rain upon the barren soil.

Shocked and terrified, they scattered in all directions, forsaking all their previous focus on reaching the gate and desperate to survive by any other means within physical possibility, that didn't involve staying and fighting of course. Kharn and the berserkers went to work then, tearing limps and bodies asunder with little effort as the ground of the daemon world that already pulsed with a twisted rainbow of colors seemed to explode with a tidal wave of crimson.

With a loud sigh of enjoyment and fulfillment, Kharn and the others switched of their chain axes and inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet scent of blood as if wafted into the cursed and vile air. Their was a mutual feeling of awkward silence and calm as most went to the task of picking some of the larger fleshy bits out of their axes' systems, not wanting to fight with jammed chain axes later. Its not as if it mattered though, as when the lust of battle fell on them few would even be aware if their weapon stopped working anyway. And even if they did, they would just use it as a clobbering weapon and pummel the opposition until died of head trauma or something similar.

When Kharn made to move slowly back to where the sounds of battle had gone oddly silent, the rest followed quickly, not wanting to invoke any of his wrath. Given that they had come with him in the first place, that of itself said they were sane enough, outside of battle at least, to know Kharn would not hesitate to slaughter each and every one of them for incompetence. But more likely than not, he wouldn't care about anything of that nature, and would just kill them if they got in his way. Either way one looked at it, the latter sounded far more like something Kharn would be prone to do.

Rounding around the citadel, the small group, numbering about seven, not including Kharn, came upon the smoking and charred remains of a score of so of berserkers. The sight infuriated Kharn, and his very emanation of malice roused Gorechild into a frenzied whir of excitement. Perhaps he didn't care much, or rather, at all, for his followers' well being, but seeing them slaughtered by a foe that should have posed no threat truly ticked him off.

What he or none of the other seven knew however, was that the daemons of the cult were not the killers. It was something far more capable of that feat, something far more dangerous to even someone like Kharn.

Emperor's Children.

They stepped out of the shadows of the tower calmly, bringing bolters to bare on Kharn and the rest. Without a word, they fired their ancient bolt-guns, sending a salvo of explosive shells towards their foes. Kharn leapt at the last second, grabbing onto a daemonic tentacle that protruded from the side of the tower just above the enemy traitors, causing the tip to flail spasmodically for a moment.

The others in his company were not so lucky, and they were cut down and torn to pieces as the bolter rounds tore into their ceramite armour, detonating violently and shattering the berserkers from within as what was left of them collapsed, the rest, bloody chunks flying through the air and nothing more, hitting the ground here and there unceremoniously.

Growling in rage from where he hung, Kharn soon found himself in a precarious position. The roar of Gorechild gave away his position and soon his enemies on the ground were angling to send explosive death his way.

Knowing that even he wouldn't survive such a salvo, he searched for an avenue of escape. But there was none to be had. There was just solid steel construct behind him, and empty air filling the space ahead. Also, they would tear him to pieces before he got close enough to fight back. As the first rounds began hitting the tower around him, he made a final, desperate, bid for survival.

Striking the wall above him with Gorechild, he pressed in the axe head hard despite the axe's protests. Then, with a tremendous feat of strength that seemed not at all strange for him, but would quite literally be physically impossible for just about any other, he pulled himself up and flung himself high into the air. As he began to fall, he embedded Gorechild into the wall again, repeating the process as he climbed ever higher, out of range of the bolters after what seemed like an eternity.

Reaching a small opening in the tower which he guessed passed for a window, a larger and more bulkier cultist struck out at him with two chain axes, leaning dangerously far out the window to do so. Hanging by one hand, Kharn quickly burned away most of the man's face with his plasma pistol, which he holstered quickly afterward.

Catching both chain axes in one hand, he made to swing into the window when a sudden burst of bolter fire from out of it discouraged the rash action. Digging into the wall with one of the chain axes and hanging onto it, Kharn laid Gorechild over his back where it was only to happy to remain and rest after its rigorous climb. With the second in his other hand, he placed it higher than the first. Pulling himself up and drawing out the first, he repeated the process for some time, climbing higher and higher and gradually getting faster as he got more fluid at performing the precarious technique.

Coming to just about the top, he found a large balcony. With no other options, he made his way around it until he was hanging over it, making sure to keep his legs folded behind him to keep himself hidden from view. Pulling out one of the axes, he set it to maximum power, making a hell of a lot of noise that broke the stark silence abruptly.

Just as he had planned, several Emperor's Children Marines appeared on the balcony, clutching their bolters tightly and looking around in confusion for the source of the noise. Chuckling quietly to himself, he dropped down before they could look up, putting a spin into his fall. Timing it just right, he instantly decapitated three of the five after dropping right in the middle of them.

Duel chain axes held in his outstretched arms as he stood up, completely straight and still, the other two traitor marines looking at him in shock before they reacted, raising and pulling the triggers on their bolters. He dodged out of the way though, moving with inhuman speed as he advanced on the one to his right, spinning around full circle as he went and bringing both chain axes down to meet his enemy's head.

The marine dropped, its head severed from its shoulders by one axe and chopped in half by the other. Not pausing after dispatching him, he kept spinning to face the fifth, moving towards the horrified traitor with stunning speed so that he could not be hit by his foe's bolter. Spinning again, he brought both axes up from behind and over head, bringing them crashing down on his enemies' shoulders and cutting off both arms.

Raising both axes up, he brought them crashing down onto the marine's chest, shooting off sparks and blood all over himself as he ruptured both his foe's heart through the armour. Panting very slightly after his exploits, he briefly allowed himself a laugh. Against all odds, he was still alive. Truly, he really was living up to his reputation of being un-killable.

"Oh, bravo. Really, good show," said a voice in a sing-song tone accompanied by a loud clapping. "Its not everyday we get attacked by a Bloodthirster, and the mightiest of Khorne's human champions in one day. But of course, where are my manners? Welcome to my abode, Kharn the Betrayer."

Kharn spun around in an instant, expecting to face hundreds of guns pointed at him to destroy him once and for all. But instead, all he found was a man, with long blonde hair down to his waist wearing a crimson robe and nothing else, sitting on a black, obsidian throne, and flanked by two completely nude and very well figured women with collars around their necks. The man appeared to be holding the women on leashes, and neither of them seemed to possess any trace animosity for such an arrogant display of authority.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue? Ah, but of course, forgive me. You don't even know what a cat is, do you? But perhaps it is not that you are so full of lustful wishes to slaughter me. Perhaps instead you have found yourselves attracted quite fondly to my friends here," the man said slyly, indicating the two women.

"Who are you. Tell me now, before I slaughter you and bring your entire warp-spawned pleasure palace down around you. But I'll still be doing that you realize, even if you do tell me. So you may as well get your arrogance out of your system now, while you still have breath with which to speak," Kharn spat heatedly, hands clenching eagerly around the axes in his hands as Gorechild roused from its slumber on his back. He wanted to kill this man, and his 'friends'. But he figured he may as well get some mild amusement from his wordplay first. No harm done there, he figured.

"Ah, I see." The man appeared to look almost hurt for a moment, angry even, before his face returned to bear the arrogant smirk from before. "I'm afraid however, you will be doing no such thing. You see Kharn, I am a very powerful man. More powerful than you may think," he added, as Kharn snorted loudly at the bold claim.

"Yes indeed," he went on, "I am quite powerful. I am very special to Slaneesh you see, because of my services. I provide her with eldar souls upon which to feast through my network of connections. You'd be surprised how much authority I have outside the Eye right from this room right here. But yes, I do that for her, and she in turn grants me power. A lot of it. Because of those gifts, here I am, master of my own great citadel and ruler of so many affairs outside the eye." He seemed almost oblivious to Kharn as he fixed the leashes to the arms of his throne, apparently so the women couldn't run away.

He stood slowly from his throne, revealing sickly black feathered wings which burst forth from his back in an almost glorious fashion, but ultimately came off as grotesque as the skeletal frame showed a severe lacking of feather in many places.. Stepping down the five stairs between his throne and the normal floor level, he gestured to the surroundings. Kharn didn't quite understand what he was trying to do.

"Look around you, Kharn," he said, with just a hint of annoyance in his voice. "See my wonderful luxuries?" He smirked broadly as Kharn looked around, scowling at everything he saw. There were tapestries and paintings, shimmering portals to unknown and distant locations, furniture wrought from sapphire, diamonds, rubies, and even adamantium. There was enough of that stuff in the room Kharn reckoned, to fully armour a few small fleets consisting of relatively high powered ships. That, or it could make enough terminator armour to completely equip one of the old legions with it. Either way, it was a hell of a lot.

None of it though, held any interest to Kharn. It was all sick perversion to him. Who needed such comfort and luxury, really? It was disgusting to see the shear amount of sexual innuendoes all around, and the man's friends were certainly not there for decoration. Hence their extremely perfect bodies. Thinking about that for a moment, Kharn suspected they were actually some kind of daemon, and not human. They could be human, but they looked far to perfect in many ways to be human. But in the end, what did he care?

"Like what you see?" The man inquired. In response Kharn gave him a death glare and revved up the chain axes still clutched in his hands. The two women, or daemonettes, or whatever the hell they were, jumped quite noticabely in fright. However, the man just laughed. He was facing certain death at the hands of the most powerful human champion of the ruinous powers besides Abbadon, and he was laughing. As much as it enraged him, made him want to teach this cocky bastard who he was dealing with, Kharn wanted to see what his reasoning was for laughing more.

"Oh, that's a laugh! Believe me Kharn, you will have your chance to use them soon enough. But please, try not to scare the ladies." He gestured towards them delicately. "They are very fragile, and need tender love and care." The words felt like poison to Kharn's ears and he very much wanted to silence the arrogant fool once and for all, but something kept him from doing so. He wished he knew what was keeping him from it, so he could obliterate it utterly.

"Yes, its all right," the man cooed softly, gently patting the women's heads. He looked up quickly, sitting down in his thrown and gesturing the women to sit on his lap, which they did with an almost desperate swiftness. "You see Kharn, these are simply daemonettes. Lesser ones mind you, so they are rather timid and afraid. Its a natural fear really, of their larger brethren. But I protect them just fine, believe me. No harm comes to my concubines."

"But in any case, Kharn, let us continue. I've had Khorne guide you hear for a reason, you know." This statement shocked the hulking traitor marine. Him? Guided by Khorne towards the company of a Slaneeshi cult master? No...

"And that reason is...?" asked Kharn with just the tiniest hint of curiosity in his voice.

"We have need of your...talents. You will perform a service for me, and I will return you to anywhere you like so you may continue your mindless butchery."

"Heh. You seem rather sure of yourself, cult master. You speak as if I've already agreed to help you with your little errand. I would rather drive Gorechild into my own gut then do the bidding of one as low and as sickening as you." Kharn took a bold step forward after this, his left hand holding the two chain axes while his right trailed slowly towards the hilt of Gorechild.

By all reckoning, this should have offended the man. But instead, he simply smiled, and took a few steps close to Kharn. Now they were little more than two meters apart.

"Kharn. You will help me. You have to help me. They all command it. Every. Damned. One of them."

"Who?" spat Kharn.

"Nurgel. Tzeench. Slaneesh. And..."

"...Khorne," finished Kharn in a hushed voice, his hands trembling in rage. Had his own god actually abandoned him to do the bidding of some lowly bitch of Slaneesh? He wished with all of the little sanity he had left that it wasn't true.

"Yes, exactly. You see now, they all need you to do this. They tire of Abbadon's failures to...well you know. So, I've come up with a plan that they seem more than willing to go through with. You'll love it too, I'm sure, if you get back in one piece that is."

"Get back?" Kharn snarled, his temper rising along with his confusion.

"Oh yes. You didn't think this would be some kind of easy mission, did you? Quite the contrary, this mission is of the utmost importance and danger. Success in this mission assures that there will be hundreds of billions of live lost in the name of Chaos.".

Countless thoughts were racing through Kharn's mind then, and he didn't know which to believe. He had just been told he would have a part in bringing death to not millions, not billions, but _hundreds_ of billions. For him, there was no greater desire, except perhaps cutting of the head of Slaneesh and presenting it to Khorne.

Ever though the man offered him his greatest desires, he felt the need to kill him. Kharn saw him as a servant of Slaneesh, and nothing more. He had to decide quickly what he was going to do, because he didn't doubt that the man had all those Emperor's Children marines standing by outside the chamber to blow him to oblivion if he didn't cooperate.

It was after a vicious mental battle that Kharn made his decision. One never could trust a worshipper of Slaneesh. They were far to crafty for that. Angling his view towards the man, he gripped his weapons tight and began walking forward slowly.

After a minute or so of painstakingly slow movement, the man's lips curled into a wicked smile as he looked up towards Kharn. "Yes. Its all going according to plan. The sacrifice was paid, the enchantments are done, and the warp storm is now breached once more. Farewell Kharn," he said as he waved gaily to him.

In a fit of rage, Kharn suddenly snapped, hurling himself towards his tormentor and preparing to drive one or more chain axe into his face. "Scream you swine!" The man simply waved again and winked, laughing as Kharn began to charge towards him. The moment before Kharn drove the axes into the man's head , he vanished in a brilliant flash of red and black sparks.

The man reclined in his throne, laughing insanely. The two daemonettes climbed onto the throne on either side of him, wrapping their voluptuous forms around his own as they moaned quietly, themselves trapped forever in a never ending orgasmic state of maddening pleasures. And rightly so, for that is what Slaneesh crafted them for.

"This is what true paradise is. Forget that damned ideal age I had planned. Damned fools can do what they want with their world, while they're still alive, of course. Which reminds me..." he said, trailing off as he reached over one of the daemonettes towards the cogitator.

Punching in a few runes, the image of a blindingly white interior to some kind of vessel appeared on the screen. Squinting his eyes, the cult master scanned the screen for any sign of what he was looking for. Then he saw something. A sudden splash of red across the perfect white. Raising an eyebrow, he chuckled quietly to himself at the sight of a Seraph Guard staggering slowly down the passage, gushing blood from a chest wound and backing away sloppily from some unseen foe.

Something threw the mangled corpse of a second Seraph Guard at it, knocking it off its feet. Then, suddenly, an ork leapt into view, bounding towards the wounded angel and cleaving it in two with hardly a sound. With a smirk on his face he pressed another rune and the image changed, showing the grotesque and mechanically altered face of Warboss Gutzmar Worldburna standing before the corpses of hundreds of orks and angels.

"Hello there, Gutzmar. I trust you are well?" asked the man in a voice dripping with sarcasm and false pretenses.

"Can it ya git! Now you see ere, ave been thinkin and ave found out ave been lied to!"

"Truly? By whom?" the man replied in a mocking tone.

"By you, dats who! You sed dis would be eazy! Dis isn't eazy at all! Dese angel-boyz can fight! I've lost me hundredz of boyz already, and we only just attacked! Sure, we'z alwayz love a good fight, cuz we're orkz, but even orkz have to think stratigicilly sometimes! And lozing so many boyz so fast doesn't seem very stratigic to me!"

"My apologies, Gutzmar. My most sincere apologies. But I have a feeling your fight will get even harder before long, so get used to heavy casualties. Just do you job and make sure that damnable craftworld is out of commission before the Imperials take notice, and you'll get your reinforcements. It won't take them long now that the warp storm is down."

"Ah! So youz taken it down den, eh? Full speed ahead wit da planz den, eh? Me an da boyz will be cleaning up here for a few dayz more mabiez, so just be paitint! Wez be killin da world for you weaklin Chaos boyz soon enough. And if da Imperial humies come, wez gonna give dem one big headache!"

"I'd rather you give them more then a simple headache, Gutzmar, provided they do show up. Think more along the lines of brain hemorrhage. Is that clear? Kill every damned trace of them if they arrive. Do not let a single litany or verse of their damned Emperor or Imperium sink into the minds of the people there. That would be utter disaster." 

"O' course! S'all clear! Wez orkz will be killing dem all for you den, cause orkz are da biggest and da baddest!"

"Perfect. Make sure it stays that way too. I'll check in sometime in the future." The man breathed a sigh of relief and closed the cogitator, slouching back down in his throne. "Well at least that part has gone well enough. Now we just have to make sure those damned ork idiots don't decide to go freelance."

"Not that it would matter though, not that it would matter... Just you wait, you bastards. You'll see the folly of all you have fought and bled for soon enough..."

-

Aww. Don't cry to me that it didn't feature a single damned thing from ToS. Don't you dare. The next chapter will be ALL ToS. ...I think. Whatever. Perhaps you'll get lucky and it won't take me a month to update next time, yes?


	3. Impossible Odds, Impossible Readings

Here you all are now. Just a short little chapter to keep my readers, however few, entertained. Ah well, I have the utmost faith that as long as I keep this going, eventually I might gain meself a little fanbase. Or, at least the story will.

Once again, its starts off with more 40K stuff. But I through in a little ToS scene at the end. I promise, 40K illiterates, the next one will be all, or at least mostly all, ToS.

-

The lasgun fell away from him as his hands went limp, staring with horror at the abominations coming towards them from out of the mists that covered the shallow valley before their crater covered ridge. He felt himself sliding weakly down into the pit of the crater, his body going limp with fear, away from the crest where the others were still firing frantically into the endless throngs of aliens.

"Emperor be damned Larkson! Grab your fragging lasgun and get your inbred arse up ere! You're not on Aigiea III anymore, hayseed!"

The young Guardsman flinched at the shouts from his sergeant as he fumbled to grab his lasgun as it slid further down the crater. There was a scream of agony from the top and he felt something large brush by him as he wrapped his hand around the stock of the gun.

Looking up to see what fell, he saw a body, its chest and face boiling and smoking as some kind of green liquid ate into it, devouring the hapless man before Larkson's young eyes. 

With a terrified yelp, he threw himself away from the horrifying sight and began clawing his way up towards the lip of the crater where the others seemed to be redoubling their efforts.

Reaching the top, Larkson took position between Jamei and Yerrvoni, two brothers from some place called Ackierd V. A hive world out in the middle of nowhere, right next to a lesser known forge world actually, Ackierd II. Both of them were stock still, perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of the sheer nerve they developed growing up in the underhive. Either way, they were firing their lasguns madly with an eerie calm. Larkson gulped loudly as he turned his attention forward, closing his left eye and bringing the sights to his right.

Hand shaking, he pulled the trigger, and again, again, and again, sending burst after burst of compressed light into the thick chitinous plates of their alien foes. But to no avail. They kept coming. Nothing stopped them.

"Two hundred meters!" yelled Aidin, the comms officer and sniper for the squad. Command never got around to sending them a new comms man, so Aidin just took over since he had been one before necessity trained him to be a sniper anyway.

Larkson did as he was told despite his almost overpowering urge to turn and run, and kept firing, so did the rest. It was all they could do given their current situation: Fight or die.

"One hundred meters!" called Aidin, his voice barely audible over the screams and shouts, and the alien clicks and hisses of the monsters charging towards them.

"STAND YOUR GROUND MEN!!!" Roared Commissar Edilin, his mighty voice reaching all the men under his command. "DRIVE THESE XENOS BACK! GIVE YOUR LIVES TO MAKE IT SO!!!"

Placing a lictor in his sights, Larkson pumped shot after shot into the swift creature, blasting off both its hooked talons and an eerily human like arm before sending two shots into its face. Faltering it with the first and obliterating its brains with the second, he allowed himself a small smile before he realized there were still several hundred billion more to go.

Sending a lasbolt into a termagaunt's head, Larkson realized one valuable and horrifying piece of information: they wouldn't be able to hold them. In stead of pushing the tyranids back, the tyranids would soon be pushing them back.

Trying to hold in a whimper, Larkson redoubled his efforts, killing two more termagaunts and expelling his empty power pack, slamming another one in mindlessly. Seconds passed. The pile of tyranid dead grew and grew, and his spare power packs disappeared one by one.

A minute passed and then they saw them. Tyranid Warriors, advancing slower than the rest, almost to far away to see, just barely in lasgun range. They bore their organic guns that spewed a death far worse than any bullet with steadfast readiness. Angling the living guns upward towards the Imperial line, the warriors fired salvo after salvo of bio-acid, catching many unawares and sending them to a grotesque and horrible death.

Larkson gritted his teeth as a few drops landing the sleeve of his jacket. He swiftly cut off the infected portion of his sleeve with his bayonet before the acid burned all the way through to his skin. Putting his close call from mind, he sighted in on one of the warriors with grim determination now that his survival instincts were running on overdrive. Gone was his nervousness, his fear even.

Now, all he wanted to do was to survive. Despite the overwhelming odds that screamed at him that he was destined to die where he lay, shredded as tyranids leapt on his back and tore him to pieces, he continued to fight on.

Even as he and others killed the warriors with well placed shots, the damage that had been done was irreversible. So many men had been lost to the bio-acid that there just wasn't enough fire going into the tyranid ranks to stall them any longer.

"To the far side of the crater! Now, dammit!" Screeched the sergeant, his voice faltering from so much yelling and fear. Larkson and the rest scampered over, turning around immediately to face the first tyranids coming over the ridge.

"FIRE! FULL POWER!!!" A low whine sounded from each man's gun as they set them to maximum power, turning them then towards the tyranids and firing. The blasts were tremendous, knocking lictors off their feet and cracking their armour, felling genestealers in a single blow, and utterly obliterating termagaunts and spinegaunts.

Larkson was amazed at the power his lasgun seemed to suddenly have. He had never fired it on full power before. Until he noticed how much just a few full power shots depleted his power pack, he had felt hope rising from the pits of his stomach.

Instead he set his gun back to normal power, snapping off as many shots as he could towards the tyranids as they stumbled through the crater. Many of them tripped on the loose ground, falling to the bottom only to be crushed to death by their brethren as they passed over top. It took the tyranids almost a minute to finally gain ground in the line of craters, the constant salvoes from the guardsmen and the bad footing wreaking havoc on their ranks. Eventually though, the men realized so many would die as to create a bridge across made of their dead.

"_Everyone out of the craters. Abandon your positions. Report immediately to the shuttle field for extraction. I repeat, everyone out..."_ Everyone in the squad looked towards Aidin, disbelief on their faces at the message coming from his vox-caster.

"Well..." began the comms man nervously. "I guess we're leaving this hell hole then. Guess they've given up." He stood in silence for a moment, pondering the strange occurrence as he stroked his unshaven chin. A loud screech from the crater roused him from his musings.

"Shit. Larkson, got any incendiaries left from that abandoned cache we found?" Asked the sergeant hurriedly, approaching the guardsman quickly and putting out his hand.

Larkson wordlessly passed the officer what looked like two small leather bags crudely bound shut. The sergeant laughed victoriously for a moment, turning to hurl the incendiaries into the massed alien ranks as a hormagaunt leapt from the crater, its sword-like front claws impaling through the sergeant's neck and chest, spraying blood all over the ashen ground and the surrounding men.

With gore dripping from the bridge of his nose, Larkson screamed, smashing the hormagaunt with the stock of his lasgun as it came for him next, earning a loud crack as the creature was hurled to the ground with a large chunk missing from its shell. Several lasbeams tore into moments later, ending its life indefinitely.

"Come on then!" yelled Yerrvoni over the din of battle, kicking the incendiaries into the crater as he did. "Let us not meet the same fate as our good sergeant today! He is with the Emperor now, a better place than any we will know if we render his death futile by staying here!"

The other squad members, most to scared to say anything, simply nodded weakly, setting off at a swift pace towards the dim glow of what was left of the final spaceport of Melloni IV. Behind them, several million tyranids began swarming over the scraps and rubble that remained of the defensive line.

-

Yuan slammed his fist down on the panel angrily, staring at the screen with a mixture of horror and surprise. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. How could he believe it? Kratos had warned the signal might distort as Derris Kharlan grew ever distant, but for it to warp so much as to display this? It just wasn't possible.

He went to work on the keyboard, punching in various keystrokes with great speed. An image of Derris Kharlan appeared on the screen, ominous even when displayed on a screen. Pressing a few more keys, the screen was overcome by static for a moment as the system beeped for a few moments.

Soon, a blurry image of Derris Kharlan came on the screen, moving in real time. Squinting his eyes, Yuan observed it best he could, the picture quality being rather low. Noticing something, he zoomed in, wondering how a series of several hundred jet black scorch marks could appear all over the hull of the normally blank white construct.

When the zoomed in image appeared, Yuan could barely keep his jaw from dropping. For they weren't scorch marks. The hull was breached, in several hundred places. Quickly typing in a command, he stumbled back in shock.

"H-How is this possible? It... It can't be!" The life sign readings on screen were detecting the usual million or so angels, but also at least five million unknown signatures. Worst of all, their basic genetic code was even unknown. Nothing about them was recognized, except their heat signatures.

Sinking back into a chair, Yuan stared blankly at the screen for awhile, trying to grasp just what was happening. Derris Kharlan, the ancient fortress of Cruxis, was under invasion by aliens. Yuan never would have believed it, and he still didn't want to.

Getting up and walking back to the panel, he noticed another reading. Instead of roughly '1,000,000 Angelicus Perfecticus', it now read '809,239 Angelicus Perfecticus'. He blinked, horror coursing through him, nearly fainting as the readout changed, dropping to '809,200', and then '808, 890', and on and on. What he beheld next shocked him most of all. An encrypted file, sent from the main control room of Derris Kharlan, had been recieved.

Gritting his teeth, Yuan stormed from his room, cape billowing behind him as he stormed to the laboratories in a great rush. Something had to be done, starting with decoding the file. Whatever was going on, he had a feeling it would not benefit Symphonia in any way.

-

There, a nice little chapter for you all. And how could I leave the Renegades out of all this? They'll play a huge part! Besides, how fun will it be to taunt Yuan fangirls with the prospect of Yuan being killed off...mwahahaha! Not that he does of course, but you know, it will be a long story...

Don't forget to review!


	4. It Could Be A Sea of Blood

W00T. This is probably a record for fast updating for me. I must say, I found this pretty annoying to write. Its short, which I don't like, but I figure why try and stretch just a few pointless scenes out when they can be combined quite easily. Now I'm not sure, but I think this chapter just seems to have some kind of 'flow' to it.

Of course, I may be wrong, but whatever.

Read and review please, and yea ToS belongs to Namco, 40K belongs to Games Workshop and all that jazz...

-

"...and here we have the famous Altar of Wind. As you can see, its very old. It is said that it dates back thousands of years before the Kharlan War. Also..."

He had finally had enough. The whole trip was boring enough, but the guide, with his dull and raspy voice, made it even worse. He wished his mother had never brought him along, but had little choice. She was a tour guide too, and he had to travel with her.

Looking up, he spotted his mother engaged in conversation with an elderly couple, trying to explain the finer details of ancient Asgard culture. He rolled his eyes, knowing she would try and be cute and make him answer their question, like she usually did. Its not that he liked it so much he remembered it, but it was simply constantly drilled into his head basically everyday of his young life.

But as he saw her back turn to indicate and explain various markings on the side of the altar to the tourists, who somehow, by some tiny grace of the Goddess, found it interesting, an idea began forming in his mind.

Using his tiny size to his fullest advantage, he slipped out of the small crowd, all of whom were gawking at this and that as his mother and the other guide indicated it.

Giggling quietly to himself, he crept into the tall grass that surrounded the altar on its other three sides. With mischief in mind he snuck silently around the altar, all the way to the back. Having got there, he found himself immensely disappointed. There was nothing of interest here either.

Crossing his arms, he leaned back against the altar in a huff, unsure of what to do. He would unlikely be able to sneak back so easily, and he didn't want to get in trouble for nothing. With that in mind, he set about searching in the grass for something that could satiate his thirst for entertainment and play.

Finding a small stick and crouching low to the ground, the young boy drew patterns and pictures in the loose topsoil, smiling to himself as he drew his favorite scene: Him, his mother, and his father, aboard their fishing boat, sailing the seas.

Those times were happy times, he remembered that much. But what ended them, he knew not. He had been to small to remember it.

A single tear slid down as his soft cheek as he thought fondly on his few memories of those times. Before his quiet moment of reflection could turn into all out weeping, a great explosion was heard from the altar.

Turning around instantly, he expected it to be no more, with rubble crashing to the earth along with the pieces of the tourists and guides. But oddly enough, it was still there, unchanged in anyway.

Standing up, he saw something else though. In the air just a few feet above the center of the altar, there appeared to be a tear in reality. It was as if the air where it stood no longer existed, and was replaced with the foreign darkness of some distant realm.

A bloodcurdling laugh emanated from the cut as it began to rumble with frightening ferocity. When it began pulsing a deep crimson, and showed scenes of brutal carnage the likes of which could drive men mad, he cried out, screaming against the wind as it began to blow viciously, and the constant laughter that hung in the air.

Tears poured from his eyes as fear overtook him as he called out again and again for his mother. Coughing and sputtering on his tears, he felt to hands reach under his arms and pick him up. He settled down almost instantly as his mother held him close to the warmth of her chest, stroking his head softly and whispering comforting words in his ear.

More laughter was heard in the air, only louder, and deeper, and faster. The child's mother had run back to the tourists, but now regretted her decision. Pulsing various reds, purples, and blacks, the evisceration of reality began to crackle madly like thunder as a single enormous ceramite boot stepped firmly upon the altar.

-

"Run, weaklings, run. My axe shall devour you all!" Kharn stood amidst the bloody and battered corpses of the tour group, the male guide's head held firmly in his hand as he watched the survivors flee, screaming in terror.

Crushing the head in his hand, he allowed himself a light chuckle as chunks of bone and brain sprayed over his armour and the ground. This would be a grand massacre, one to be spoken off in fear and horror for countless centuries to come.

Licking his lips in anticipation of the slaughter, he began the decent down the long flight of stairs into the city, stepping on the flesh and bone of his most recent victims with a sickening crunch.

-

Strolling through Asgard at the head of her own tour group, Chocolat squinted her eyes as the sun beat down. She hated having the afternoon tours, with the sun in her eyes the whole time. That, and elderly always seemed to be crankier after noon. At least the ones in her tour groups, anyway.

She pulled her hat down further, shading her eyes from the bright rays, when loud and distant screams echoed through the air. Everyone stopped what they were doing instantly, all of them turning to face the direction it had come from if they already weren't.

No one moved, and the moment grew more and more tense as the seconds passed by without any occurrence. As curiosity began to take the place of common sense in her mind, Chocolat set off at a quick pace towards the ruins, where the scream had sounded from, the baffled tourists following closely behind.

-

People were filing down the great stone steps as fast as they were able, many tripping and getting trampled by others as they pushed madly against the throng of people to reach the bottom before those behind them.

Chocolat stared up at the scene with a mixture of horror and disgust. People were simply abandoning one another to death in the streets, the way it seemed. Angling her view further up, she caught a glimpse of what could drive them into such a frenzy.

Atop the altar at the top of ridge that overlooked the great valleys behind Asgard, there was a great tear, as if through reality itself. It pulsed an ominous black, with blood red tendrils flailing around it wildly, foul bile seeping from their ends as blood dripped rapidly from the portal's edges, running down the tendrils to fall with the bile to the ground.

But the most horrifying sight, the most horrifying she had ever seen, was the shape at the top of the stairs.

Striding slowly downwards, the figure held in its hand the largest axe she had ever seen, the blade of which seemed to spin around rapidly. It seemed to pulse with strange energies like the portal, as did the enormous armour which the figure wore.

As the sky began to turn a sickly red and purple pallor, lightning as black as night streaked across it. Great, booming laughter that shook the foundations of even the sturdiest building rumbled like thunder as everyone stopped running, literally frozen in fear. They all turned to face the thing that was coming ever closer to them. 

Foul red and green taint spread from its feet as the monstrous figure stepped onto the ground, the eerie whirring of its axe sending a chill down everyone's spine. Chocolat could hardly keep herself from running as it drew closer, the crowd slowly inching backwards as it did.

Whatever it was stopped, looking around at the hundreds of people gathered around it as it did. Rearing its horned head back, it laughed, the voice distorted badly with a metallic quality to it that made it even more nerve wracking, yet definitely still human in nature.

Another laugh boomed from the heavens, and with it, the quiet patter of blood as it fell like a rain storm from the clouds. There were a few moans and scattered whimpers, but for the most part, everyone remained where they were, still frozen with their fear.

When the blood rained on it though, it sighed contently as the blood seemed to seep through its armour and join with it. The eyes on its helmet went a deep crimson in an instant, and its gaze snapped back to the people. Swinging its axe about wildly, its cry sent everyone running as it charged them, laughing insanely as it gave chase.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!!"

-

Far away, on the other side of the world, stood Lloyd Irving, his bare torso drenched in sweat from the heat. He stood up from his backbreaking work of harvesting the hay, stretching his back and arms and sighing with a mixture of relief and pain at the series of cracks from his spine.

Placing the butt of his scythe on the ground, he stood with his other hand behind his head, staring out across the seemingly endless fields of hay and wheat that stretched off into the distance. The sun was just entering its setting phases, and it cast a mighty golden brown glow over them.

Taking a moment to admire the beauty, he sighed contently. Taking a few more swings at the hay, he gathered it together and placed it on the pile behind him. He went along for a few more minutes, making several piles more.

Topping off the last one, he dusted off his hands and pulled some rope that was looped around his belt for safe keeping. One by one, he packed the piles tightly together, binding them in the middle with the rope. When he finished that, he took a to much longer ropes and fastened all six piles together.

Picking them up, he slung it over his back, bending slightly forward to keep his balance. He passed others doing the same, gathering up their most recent harvest and binding it together, then carrying it in the same fashion as he was.

Walking in loose convoy, Lloyd and several others walked towards the road where carts were waiting. Dumping all the hay onto his cart next to the wheat he had harvested earlier, Lloyd stepped in front and grabbed hold of the handles to either side of him, pulling the cart along with him as he walked.

By now the sun was almost dipping below the horizon, and his gaze wandered off the road and he soon found himself looking at the fields again, bathed in their newfound crimson glow. As if hypnotized, he couldn't bring himself to look away. Waving peacefully in the wind, the wheat and hay with their reddish glow was so surreal it felt as if it was beckoning him towards.

He was finally roused from his daze when his cart bumped into another, causing him to jump a few inches off the ground in surprise.

"Hey, watch where you're going, bud!"

"Sorry...dozed off there for a moment..." he muttered apologetically. The other man just nodded his head and walked off with his own load, not paying him any more heed.

Shaking his head, Lloyd got his cart back on track and trailed behind the others. As he rounded the final bend up the road to town that took him out of site of the fields, he chanced another glance back at them.

He remembered that, earlier in the day the fields had had a beautiful golden glow about them in the morning and afternoon sun. Now, with the sun dipped half below the horizon, the sky around it had turned a deeper and almost angry red.

Standing there, it was not the sun nor the sky that had transfixed him. The fields, their golden glow now gone, were now a much more stagnant color, more resembling a dark and eerie shade of brownish red; the color of blood.

Amidst this, the evening breeze had picked up in strength, catching in its grasp the rows of wheat and hay and making them flow and shift before Lloyd's eyes as if they were a mighty and restless sea.

"It could almost be a sea of blood," he muttered to himself, shivering from the very thought. "A sea of blood..."

Try as he might, he could read no good omen from such a sign.

-

There. Short and sweet. Next chapter will most likely be pretty long I think...like 6000+ words mayhaps? I dunno, we'll see won't we?

Oh, and to my anonymous reviewer Ravenor or whoever, I do realize no individual would EVER meet one of the Chaos gods personally. But I'll just say this guy is VERY high up there in rank...not that I'm saying he actually does know them personally. Maybe he just talks like he does. But who knows...you'll find out soon enough.


	5. Visions of a Dark Future

-1I've been trying to convince myself to write a really nice and long chapter, but I just can't seem to bring myself to do it. Its not like its hard its just...I'm a lazy piece of crap! Ah yes, how I love the truth! Well in any case, here's another little chapter to whet your appetite on. Not that I think this story would give you much of an appetite but...oh well! I've started it, I NEED to finish it! Its just something I need to do...something about proving to myself I can actually finish something I started I guess...

DISCLAIMER: Namco owns Tales of Symphonia! Games Workshop owns Warhammer 40,000! I own nothing! Not even my sanity!

Bear in mind that...this was written rather hastily, and while I was tired, so some things that are in here might not even be meant to be in there. At any rate, I think its good enough for how quickly I put it all together. Which was about...an hour or so. Maybe two. Either way that's pretty damned good for me!

Now read my fic or get out! Uhm...please.

-

There it was, in all its silent glory: Symphonia. Hanging so innocently in the vastness of the void, eternally locked by gravity to orbit its sun, ever twirling. The swirling white masses of clouds and the great patches of blue and green and brown all stood out, seeming to shimmer and glow, illuminating the space around it.

He breathed a content sigh of relief, as he stared at it, his lips slowly twisting into a smile as memories of bygone days filled his mind. Before everything had been sent into a downward spiral of madness and tragedy, there had been contentment to be found on its surface.

_"Symphonia..."_

His voice echoed its name, the world of his birth, his former home, and his responsibility. Defend it to death...by leaving. Take away that cursed thing, Derris-Kharlan. Cast it into the deepest sectors of space...let eternity have its way with the thing.

Looking longingly towards the world he had grown to love, to hate, and to love once again, he realized, grimly, what that had meant. Leaving everything behind. A tear, a lone tear, rolled down his cheek as he reminisced, nostalgia almost overtaking him as his body shook. Each passing second threatened to see him on his knees, weeping, wishing things had been different.

Drying his eyes, he looked again towards Symphonia. He screamed in horror at the sight.

Great chasms tore its continents into dust. Fiery winds drank away its oceans. Pulsing red, purple, green, black, and blue glows grew from tiny blots to great cists of taint, ever spreading, overlapping and changing to cover all of the surface. The clouds dissipated against a harsh black mist, through which ran veins of purest crimson.

Laughter like thunder echoed through the void to his ears. The entire planet ran wild with storms of dark colors and rhythmic flashes of darkness. Its surface seemed to come alive, like a raging sea of blood.

Teeth gritted, eyes staring heatedly towards the once pristine world, he screamed, throwing his head back and letting his voice be carried to the farthest corners of space by the foul winds of his throbbing rage.

Two serpent-like eyes, glowing a red so bright, it was almost white, yet at the same time a red so dark, it was almost black, stared at him from their place before the burning world. Their color was an optical impossibility, and yet there they were, as plain as day. Trying to comprehend it nearly drove him insane.

"_Come, let us take you into our eternal embrace. Let the lights of the warp consume your soul. Cast away your mortal body, and let the daemons of the true gods twist you to a fitting form."_

"_Blackheart! Monster! Foul abomination! What have you done!?"_

The eyes just stared at him, the thundering laughter again reaching his ears. A head slowly began forming around the eyes, glowing the same impossible color. Red and white fire lit around it as it floated their laughing.

"_This world will see not the purity of peace...but the fires, of eternal war! Ha ha ha ha ha ha! HAA HAA HAA HAA HAA HAA HAAAAAA!!! BEHOLD THE JUDGEMENT OF THE WARP!!!"_

"_NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"_

It shattered. Billions of tiny pieces of rock, water, and life spilling out in every direction into the emptiness of the void. What sounded like a billion screams of pain reached his ears. A whole world and its people, snuffed out in an instant. His very soul seemed heavier for it.

Only the floating head remained.

"_Kratos Aurion of the Four Seraphim of Cruxis...he bids you, your world, and your family...farewell!" _

Everything went black, and only the laughter remained, echoeing through his very mind and soul.

_-_

_"Kratos..__."_

_"Kratos..."_

_"Kratos!" _

_"Kratos!" _

_"Kratos...!"_

_-_

"Kratos!"

The seraphim came awake in an instant, his sword drawn even before he gained his feet, already searching for the foe as he kicked up from his back. There was no one around. Just the corpses of some angels and more of the beasts from earlier. He held a hand to his abdomen, where some painful looking bruises and much dried blood was found. He briefly recalled the battle earlier, but remembered little of how he received his wounds.

"Kratos! Kratos, are you there? Can you here me!?"

Shock gracing his features, Kratos turned around towards his com-piece, which laid on the ground amidst the bodies and paraphernalia of battle. A parting gift from Yuan it was, he recalled, to be used only in the most extreme emergencies. He recalled his dream of Symphonia...could Yuan be contacting him about...? He snatched up the palm sized oval-shaped object, pressing the lone button and holding it to his mouth.

"Yuan?"

The voice that received his greeting sounded both shocked and relieved, though it tried to mask its surprise.

"Kratos! At last, you answer me! I've been trying to get hold of you for hours now!"

"Yuan...Its been so long. What has made you try and reach me? There's only so much power left in that

machine before it dies. Then my connection with Symphonia will be forever severed irreversibly."

"I know, Kratos, I know. Believe me, I have no intention of wasting its power. This is almost certainly worth it, Kratos..." He trailed off for a moment, and there were a few precious seconds lost to silence before his voice returned. "Disturbing things have been appearing all over my scans of Derris-Kharlan. Whatever they are, they seem to be butchering the angels."

There was a brief pause as Kratos looked about at the bodies. He closed his eyes, shaking his head and sighing.

"I am afraid you're correct there, Yuan. These creatures are slaughtering all the angels they come across. From what I've seen, they can indeed be killed, though. However, I've become separated from the angels and have no idea where anyone...or anything, is. I need to get back to the fight to drive back these invaders!"

"Kratos, you can't. There...to many." Static was beginning to intertwine itself with his words. "Millions...they've...all landed...heading for...control room."

"Millions..."

"Must...flee! You...must...there...will find..."

"Yuan! I can't hear you, the static is growing too thick!"

"Mithos' palace...there...escape...return...prepare for...coming..." The line broke. Heavy static roared

through the com-piece, and Kratos through it down to the floor in frustration.

"Damn! Lost him!" Crossing his arms, he stared at the floor deep in thought for a few brief moments. "He mentioned Mithos' palace... He seemed to be implying that there is a way I could return to Symphonia from there... Vinheim. As long as these monsters haven't infested it yet, it shouldn't be to hard getting inside."

His visions of Symphonia and the floating head still freshly burning in his mind, Kratos set off at a breakneck pace down the seemingly endless corridors of Derris-Kharlan. If he had interpreted Yuan's final words correctly, then if he did not get to Vinheim, all would be lost. If his visions were true, then no amount of hulking green monsters were going to stop him.

-

Larkson stared out of the viewport at his seat on the shuttle as it took off into the air towards the transports waiting in low orbit, watching in horror as the tyranids spilled over and through the spaceport walls. Without stopping their breakneck pace they swarmed towards the defensive line of Guardsmen. The telltale site of lasbolts was the only indication there were any men there at all amidst the bugs.

He cringed at the sight, the endless mass of the tyranid horde pressing against the hapless men as they were torn asunder. The urge to vomit grew increasingly prominent as his whole stomach seemed to turn to mush, his body retching as he coughed and sputtered.

To his left sat Aidin, who gave him several hearty slaps on the back.

"Come now, Larky. Just be glad you got a seat on the shuttle and are still alive! The last thing you would want is to be joining those poor bastards."

Larkson wiped the tiny traces of vomit from the corners of his mouth, turning to face his companion with a look of disgust.

"'Poor bastards' you say. Well they're laying down their lives so we can escape! That makes them worthy of far more mention than just that, I'd say!"

"Well, Larky, the gist of it is either we all die here, or some die here and some live. Even though those that live will just go on to fight some more and die at the hands, or claws, or talons, or whatever the hell else of another even more horrific and disgusting enemy of the Emperor, you have to get the logic behind it. Seriously though, he must not have been as popular as the priests and the commissars would have you believe, our Emperor. I mean, what single man can possible have this many enemies unless he's a complete jackass?"

He flinched suddenly, bowing his head and mumbling a hurried prayer of apology to the Emperor. Sweat was visibly drenching his skin in moments as his whole body shook with the fear of being granted the Emperor's vengeance for such heresy. For one who talked rather freely and liberally about the Emperor and the Imperium in general, Aidin was one of the first to always pray and beg the Emperor of Man for forgiveness for the slightest faults and for the blessing to survive one more day. He really was a very faithful and religious man, despite his outward attitude, which some people would say was heretical.

"Well remember Aidin, we did virus bomb, exterminate and drive to the brink of extinction thousands of alien species during the Great Crusade. I can't say that has endeared us to well to the other denizens of this galaxy, no?" quipped Yerrvoni from the seat behind.

Jamei rapped his brother hard on the ear.

"Just because you survived in battle against some of the Emperor's fiercest enemies doesn't mean you can speak so freely about him or his actions. He is a glorious and wondrous person, a god more so then any others before him, and cannot be lowered to the petty level you seem intent on taking him to."

The other three exchanged glances before breaking down into barely subdued snickering. They were all faithful men, without a doubt, but sometimes Jamei was just too stuffy for his own good.

"Jeez, lighten up would ya' bro? We're free!"

And indeed they were free, free from battle at least. For a short while in any case. Such is the life, of an Imperial Guardsman.

-

Alas, I think I can already smell the stench of my first failure in this fic. At least I think so. I'll ask the Warhammer fanatics who seem to love this story for some reason!

In my attempt to make the Guardsmen more carefree and lighthearted, do you think I've made them to...heretical? I mean, they're Imperial Guard draftees so obviously all their lives they've had the Imperial dogma drilled into their minds pretty much from birth. Plus they aren't very experienced in battle yet, leading one to assume, correctly, that they are relatively fresh to battle. But in any case, that would mean they haven't really been around long enough, in otherwords away from the priests and whatnot of their homewords, to begin to really develop their own personal beliefs towards the Emperor, and their own way of showing their faith to him, at least in secret lest the commassariat or the eccliarschy finds out that they're being 'heathens'.

(Oh yeah, and would SOMEONE tell me how to spell that eccheliaschy thing the Imperial priests are in? Its getting annoying that I don't know.)

For example, in some 40K novels I've read, the Guardsmen in them are rather carefree in regards to faith, since they've been fighting so long in the name of an Emperor and going nowhere, judging by how they are always fighting, and never get a single break. Like, Davir, in Fifteen Hours stopped believing all together because he just doesn't give a damn anymore.

So, what do you think? Are they to carefree in that regard, or at least to carefree in regard to their age and experience? Let me know please! I don't want to inaccurately portray the Imperial Guard. Eldar, ok, since they're rather complex, so a few mistakes there, no problem. But I plan to feature the IG so heavily in this story, that I'd rather not have such a huge flaw in some of my characters. Help me please?


	6. Walking Sacrifice

-1Look at this! I updated...somewhat fast, no? Well, enjoy, I suppose. Its a bit rushed, but I'd say its good enough. Well I was half asleep while I wrote it...so I may have left a thing or two out, but nothing major.

Ah yes! How could I forget! I DO NOT OWN TALES OF SYMPHONIA OR WARHAMMER 40,000!!! If I did...there'd be a warhammer shooter like Battlefield2 and there'd be a ToS two following the exploits of Mithos before he went crazy...but I don't own them so, ah well...

-

The commissar walked up and down the ranks of guardsmen, casting heated and disgruntled glances at each scarred face as he passed. His hand rested tensely on his laspistol, as if he wished to rip it from its holster and accuse each man before him of heresy and treason and deal out justice then and there.

"Alright, you worthless pieces of near heathen filth, it would appear that the Emperor has graced you miserable maggots. You will not be returning to Melonni IV." The last words were accompanied by a shower of spittle. It was clear this commissar was not in a good mood. His last words sent a wave of relief through all the guardsmen, though. Anything was better then fighting the tyranids again.

"I can hardly begin to fathom what immense stroke of luck has gotten you bastards taken out of action in this war. Its almost to lucky, some would say..."

There was little doubt to any of the guardsmen that the commissar was slightly insane, or at least very keen on summarily executing people for supposed heresy and the like. It seemed to them that everything that moved was, to him, a probable suspect of heresy against the Emperor.

"Now if it were up to me, you'd all be signed up to spearhead the counter-attack against the tyranids. But it isn't up to me. Listen closely you swine, as I'll only say this once."

His hand moved, for the first time, from his pistol and grasped a small object which he pointed at something behind the Guardsmen. A dim, white glow fell over everyone in the room, casting long shadows on the floor and walls.

"About face, you dogs!" More out of fear then well ordered military discipline, the Guardsmen moved in perfect synch, lifting up their right feet, spinning on the left, and bringing their right back down hard, creating a loud clapping sound as all the boots hit the dusty floor at once. They stood in smart salute, each one left with his own thoughts as they watched the commissar from the corners of their eyes move to the front of them.

Drawing his sword, the commissar gestured to the large screen that lowered from the ceiling in front of them. Clearing his throat, he cast another suspicious glance over the guardsmen before speaking.

"You have all been gathered here today for one reason and one reason only. All of your regiments were annihilated, save a small handful from each. Your commanders are all dead. There aren't enough of you to band together to create a new regiment, and we've found that most of you are too mentally unstable to be trusted to fight in such a precarious operation as a counter attack against tyranids. So what to do with you? I knew of just the thing, and as such, you've been placed under my command for the duration of the mission I've volunteered all of you for."

Holding the small clicker in his hand again, he pointed it at the screen and pressed a button. Instead of casting a blank white glow, the screen now cast the glow of the faint picture of a world. A few quiet moans of despair could be heard from the crowd.

"This planet has been named 'Lost Cause'. Approximately three thousand years ago, a large cluster of planets surrounding 'Lost Cause' were overrun by massive Ork assaults. Periodic counter-attacks meant to retake the words were made, but they only succeeded in weakening the orks enough to deter any of their warbosses toying with ideas of further expansion into Imperial space."

The Guardsmen licked their now dry lips nervously, already not liking the sound of things.

"This world, at the center of that cluster, has earned its name for one simple reason. It is a lost cause. Since the time of the Emperor's Great Crusade and likely well before it, to modern times, it has been caught in a warp storm. Scans of it and its surrounding space indicate the planet's surface is likely very much like that of ancient Holy Terra beneath the madess."

He pressed another button and the image changed again, showing a faint picture of what looked like two moons orbiting 'Lost Cause'.

"One of these is a naturally formed satellite of 'Lost Cause'. The other, is not natural. Nor is it manmade. According to these scans, taken approximately four hundred years ago, this second, whiter 'moon' is in fact an ancient eldar craftworld. There has been no sign of eldar activity anywhere around the planet however, and even if there were eldar inside it, they would have been slaughtered by daemons by now. So don't worry about those foolish heretics."

The picture changed to a chart showing the whole planet cluster in which 'Lost Cause' resided. It looked as if it was contained within an impregnable fortress, judging by the amount of planets which surrounded it in nearly every direction.

"Of late, the warp storms surrounding the planet have begun to weaken. I have received reports that the storms have recently reached such a lull that we could pass through them and land on the planet's surface. Once there, we will have to begin the real mission."

The Guardsmen were mumbling quietly amongst themselves, not feeling overly pleased with their new assignment so far.

"As I said earlier, all the planets surrounded 'Lost Cause' have been conquered by the orks. Fresh reports indicate that ork forces are already moving to take positions on the planet the moment the warp storms let up. Our job is to prevent this from happening. We will land and establish a field HQ. If there are local xenos settlements, we are to eradicate them without fail. If we find local human settlements, we are to destroy them only if they refuse to embrace the light of the Emperor."

Among the Guardsmen, Larkson and the others stood next to one another, watching with horror as their new, slightly insane commander, who, just their luck, also happened to be a commissar, seemingly laid out the blueprints for their doom.

Millions of orks were prepared to flood the planet as soon as the warp storm goes down, and this commissar wanted them, barely a thousand conscripts who barely avoided having their jugulars ripped out by the tyranids, to go and fight orks. Now, perhaps orks were far less eerie then tyranids, but from the stories all of them had heard, the bastards were insanely tough, at least tougher than the average tyranid grunt. Only there were just as many of them.

"Of course, what could so few of you do against so many millions of orks? As I said, we are to establish a foothold, and only a foothold. We will perform no insane heroics, unless there is no further course of action we can take. We will provide landing zones for the en route Imperial forces. When they arrive, we will press the attack, and from there, take control of the planet. We will quickly build up its defensives, and with the orks reeling from their losses, we will begin to retake the worlds lost to them around 'Lost Cause'. One. By. One."

The images on the screen disappeared and it rolled back into the ceiling as the commissar stepped forward, hand back on the hilt of his pistol.

"Is everything I've said clear to all of you?" No one said a word, quite understandably seeing as how his hand tightened considerably on his pistol as he scanned the crowd for anyone stupid enough to speak up. "Good. For once it seems I've found some conscripts who have brains. I just hope for your sake that your balls are as big as your brains, for all an ork will fear is strength greater than its own. Remember that. Dismissed!"

-

Throwing himself down on the hard cot provided for him in the barracks of the ship, Larkson let out a long sigh of mixed relief and apprehension. He had escaped the tyranids only to find himself facing death by the hand of beasts triple his size in just about every physically possible way. If he was lucky enough to survive the orks somehow, he'd still have to worry about his next foe, however...

"Hey, Larky, cheer up! We're done with those fucking bugs! We went through some of the worst shit anyone's ever seen, and we lived to tell the tale! So stop moping!" Yerrvoni hopped onto the cot next to him and bounced around in pure glee.

"Its nice to see at least you're unchanged, Yerrvoni." replied Larkson casually without looking away from the ceiling. "But I guess we'll have to see how long it takes for an ork to take off you head and your indomitable smile with it, now won't we? The sergeant and the tyranids sure couldn't do it. Wonder if orks are up to the challenge?"

Yerrvoni put on a mock air of hurt, pretending to tear up as he turned away from Larkson.

"Such harsh words. I never would have expected them to come from you of all people, Larkson." Jamei strolled over to them calmly, arms crossed as weaved through other guardsmen and beds to stand in front of his brother. He rapped Yerrvoni over the head, hard. "Stop acting like a little bitch. Take the good commissar's advice to heart and start praying you grow a dick bigger than your brains."

"Huh. That shouldn't be hard for him, Jamei."

"Ah, truer words I have not heard yet today, Larkson."

Aidin, who had been sitting quietly on the side of his cot to the right of the others, with his head lowered and set in his arms, suddenly looked up, a weary look on his face.

"Ah, the commissar. Just what we need, eh? The tyranids made short work of them before. I hope the orks do the same here..."

The twins leapt across and pinned him to his cot, looking around cautiously as they put their hands over his mouth. Aidin's eyes went wide as he appeared to realize what he had just said. He put his hands together and closed his eyes as he appeared to utter a hurried prayer of apology to the Emperor in his mind. Larkson rolled his eyes and put his hands behind his head.

"Stow it, would you, Aidin? That's no way to talk unless we're alone! And you shouldn't even say it then, either, so keep your mouth shut!" hissed Jamei irritably.

"But in all seriousness," whispered Yerrvoni so only the four of them could hear, "that crazy bastard will probably be a greater threat to our lives than the orks. Did you see the way he went about with his hand on his pistol? Its like he wanted to kill us all right then and there on false charges of heresy or something..."

"T-That's what I meant!" replied Aidin quietly. "I meant I hope the orks do away with him before we face summary execution for no reason."

"That's enough! All of you, just shut up!" They turned their heads slowly towards Larkson, who was staring at them with a venomous glare. "Can't you even wait till we make planet fall and see action before you start criticizing our commanders? At least see what kind of man he's like under fire until you judge him, so!"

The three of them looked towards the floor shamefully, not wanting to face Larkson's piercing glare.

"Ah...I guess you're right there, Larkson. Its just...we all have different ways of dealing with the coming horrors. But what's gotten into you, anyway? When did you man up, huh?" questioned Yerrvoni.

"Just shut up and go to sleep, you guys..." Larkson turned over on his side so his back was facing them and miraculously fell asleep within moments.

"But its not even sleep..."

The whole room went dark as the glowglobes dimmed for sleep cycle, the guardsmen in the room all fumbling in the dark to reach their beds.

"...cycle." Aidin crossed his arms and sighed loudly, letting himself fall back on his uncomfortable bed. "That was creepy..." He gazed over at Larkson through the darkness as the twins climbed onto the top bunks above him and Larkson. "What's really come over you ,anyway? So unlike you...hmm. Well, I guess realization that you're nothing but a walking sacrifice to the Imperium will bring about some harsh feelings towards others..."

He yawned loudly, and realizing just how tired he really was, rolled over and fell asleep almost instantly. It would be the last time any of them ever knew peace while they slept.

-

Ah ha ha...sorry if it sucks! I'm pretty tired, after all... I'll be coming back and revising everything eventually, so think of this as just a temporary installment. But if you happen to like it, well...cool!

I'll try and update soon!


	7. The Sufferings of the Innocent

-1AN: This chapter may be slightly more mature than the others, not because of intense blood and gore, but because it implies some things that are a little... Well, you'll see what I mean! And I apologize if this chapter seems rushed and/or just overall terrible.

I am writing during late night now, since its the only time my computer isn't threatening to melt. So that's the only real reason any thing I write may seem a little...funky. Let me know if you find something that seems like it shouldn't be there and I'll look into it. Well, read, review, and most of all, enjoy!

Oh, and I did make some slight updates to the first chapter, just so you know. You probably won't even be able to notice the changes, but I could be wrong.

DISCLAIMER: I do not in any way own Tales of Symphonia or Warhammer 40,000.

-

Striding through the burning streets which pulsed viciously as the taint sank into the very core of everything it touched, Kharn seemed to be overtaken with joy, and for good reason. Had he not found a world full of unsuspecting and ignorant humans, with no knowledge of how to even attempt to stop him?

He had!

For this, the psychotic marine was all to happy. He could go about killing on a whim, whomever and whatever he felt like, whenever he felt like it. The best part, he would be greatly rewarded for this. Of course he loved all to much the blessings Khorne gave to him when he slaughtered the Imperial dogs and the Slaneeshi bastards, but to receive a blessing from all four of the dark gods at once?

It was a sickeningly sweet pleasure, one which he accepted only because Khorne did not seem opposed to it. He had found it strange at first that Khorne would not mind Slaneesh touching his champion with his power, but soon stopped caring as the whispers of his once sworn enemy caressed his eternally enraged mind.

The power that flowed through him, all the chaos gods binding their strength as one and giving it to him to wield, was indescribable. Nothing could stop him. Nothing! He felt as if he could take on the false emperor himself, such was his newfound power.

It had been nearly a week since he first came and slaughtered the townspeople, and already he could feel the powers of the warp infesting it. Time itself was being bent and distorted; people who should have died days ago, still clung to life, the energies of the warp not quite understanding or caring that a person should die when all the blood has left their body.

Kharn knew, much to his approval, that humans were generally a social bunch. If one of their settlements suddenly stopped communicating with its neighbors, they would send people to investigate. For this, Kharn was oh so pleased. All he had to do was sit, and wait. Normally he wouldn't have such patience, but his acceptance of the other Chaos Gods' power into his being had drastically changed him.

Stacking the severed heads of his most recent victims in a great effigy of Khorne's skull throne, he laughed manically as his god accepted the offering, all the flesh and hair melting off the skulls in a fashion not unlike that of a tree oozing sap that stank of rotting flesh and blood.

His creation went up in flames then, the ground where it had once sat glowing a deep, ominous red as the stench of flesh rotting for centuries rose from the spot.

A sudden, strangled sob from behind him drew his mind away from his dark rituals. Holding Gorechild calmly in both hands, he walked over slowly. Looking down, he saw the tattered form of Chocolat, covered in blood and grime.

Grinning behind his helmet, Kharn laughed at the pitiful sight.

"What a foolish little girl! Why do you cling to life? It will but make your suffering worse." He knelt down next to her, whispering quietly in her ear. "Die for me now, little girl. Scream as I rip out your heart and feed it to Khorne."

He raised a hand over her chest, preparing to make good on his words. Something stopped him, however. Looking over Chocolat, as she lay there dieing, her breathing ragged and coming very slowly, he felt new urges rise from the back of his mind.

Whispers of the other gods filled his mind. Had he truly been changed so much already? He closed his eyes and withdrew his hand, standing up and spreading his arms wide as he reared his head back and laughed loudly. What power was greater than Chaos Undivided?

His gaze returning to Chocolat, primal urges long suppressed since a time unmemorable. Eyes roving, he spotted her flesh through the flimsy remnants of her uniform, pale from her long days in the uniform which covered most of her body. Flecks of blood dotted along the right half of her abdomen, growing thicker towards her side. There was a large gash there, which had cost her much blood. Luckily, the cold that now settled over Asgard as chaotic influences took over had slowed down the rate at which she lost blood.

Although that didn't matter, when one had an insane champion of Chaos undivided standing over you, eyeing you with a ravenous hunger. Chocolat seemed to understand this through the semi-conscious haze that blanketed her mind, and she began a tremendous effort to crawl away, towards the solitary entrance and exit of Asgard.

Stroking the chin of his helmet thoughtfully, Kharn gazed towards her wound as she weakly fought against the blackness that threatened to engulf her.

"Oh, my dear...did I do that? My apologies...if only I had..." He paused, eyes widening as he licked his lips at the site of her breasts falling through her tattered clothing. "...If only I had seen before what a delectable creature you are..."

"Yes! GOOD!" He lunged at her, laughing like the madman he was. The whispers of his barbaric god had left him, for now. His once sworn enemy, Slaneesh, now held sway over his mind. He would see Chocolat as the first tally on his list of victims in his name.

"NO! NO! NOOOO!!!" Her screams were quickly silenced as his immense form overtook her's.

-

Staggering backwards blindly, the ork soon found itself against the wall. Its attacker weaved in, ducking under its desperate swings and impaling it up to the hilt on his sword. The creature's black blood gushed out over the white floor as its killer ripped out his blade.

"Horrible creature," muttered Kratos as he wiped his sword off on the corpse of his slain foe. "May your souls never know peace, you miserable bastards!" spat Kratos as he turned to his right, facing the main access to Derris-Kharlan's main lobby.

Behind him, laid the corpses of nearly three score orks, dotted about the corridor as they tried to flee the terrible fury that was Kratos' blade. Sporting one of the strange weapons that had brought him down before strapped to his back, he walked into the main lobby boldly.

He walked into absolute madness.

Angels and orks were slaughtering each other endlessly as more and more reinforcements from both sides poured in from nearly every available entryway. Angels fell in droves to orks bearing the great weapons that had so easily felled him. Orks were sent flying many yards as angels gave them a taste of their magic. The smell of burning ork was particularly strong.

Zipping across his vision were more angels, locked in intense aerial combat with orks wearing what appeared to be small rockets strapped to their backs. And of course, above all, the smell of the sweat and the blood, and the feeling of light headedness as Derris-Kharlan's systems were strained keeping enough oxygen flowing to satiate the breathing needs of all the millions of extra life forms.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!"

A sizable group of orks had taken notice of him standing alone, an easy target bearing only a sword and an ork weapon which they couldn't see. They charged, screaming their wild war cry again and again. It had quite an unnerving quality to it, which even made Kratos recoil slightly.

Ignoring them for the moment, Kratos looked past them to watch an ork bring its odd weapon to bare on some angels. Taking his ork weapon from his back, he examined it, looking back to see how the ork was holding its own. Nodding his head, he did as the ork did and directed it towards the charging orks.

Pulling what he took to be the trigger to activate its curious function, Kratos felt himself nearly thrown back as a flurry of metal erupted from the weapon in a flash of yellow and orange sparks. Bursts of blood, entrails and the appearance of fist sized holes in the orks' abdomens told him he was killing them with

whatever it was he was holding, and quite effectively at that.

"What madman would create such a weapon..." wondered Kratos as he mindlessly mowed down the advancing orks.

With one ork still left alive to charge at him, the weapon stopped flashing and the lone ork kept coming. Instead it made a loud and constant clicking sound, and Kratos frowned as he looked from the seemingly broken weapon towards the crazed beast rushing to meet him. With the ork almost upon him, he shrugged, swinging the contraption at his solitary foe with all his might,

It connected with a sickening crack, the weapon broken in half as blood showered from the side of the ork's shattered skull. It stayed where it had fallen, unmoving and without a sound. Kratos tossed away the half of the weapon still in his hand, drawing his sword and striding past the still body of his foe.

Stepping over the others he had killed, his eyes darted to and fro, searching for his destination. It was harder then he had expected. Everything seemed so much different when it was covered in blood, corpses and the teeming masses of two armies still fighting fiercely.

Moving in what he took to be the right way, given that scores of angels were flocking to it with each passing moment to drive the orks away from it, Kratos took a tight grip on his sword. It would be hard, but he had to get to Vinheim. Or, as he assumed from what he heard of Yuan's final words and from his dream, then something terrible would happen to Symphonia. That, above all else, had to be avoided.

Looking around, Kratos saw hordes of angels coming out as if from nowhere and slaughtering all the orks he could see. Further away, he could see the walkways which led to the main and only access point to Vinheim. They were teeming with orks. However, it looked like this portion of the main lobby was now firmly under the control of the angels. Sheathing his sword, he realized it looked as if they were preparing to mount an attack on Vinheim.

A dreadful thought suddenly occurred to him. Had the enemy seized control of the palace? He couldn't fight through an army of the beasts, even if he had an army of angels to fight with him. But he had to try.

"My lord! My Lord Kratos!" A larger than normal angel quickly flew over to him, making an intimidating presence as he hovered almost half a foot of the ground, making him nearly two heads taller than Kratos. He was wearing the black armour of the Seraph Guard with an ornate spear bearing the mark of Yggdrasil. Kratos took this to mean that this angel had been a powerful general back when Mithos was in power, and likely was a general now as well.

Slightly taken aback, the seraphim was never the less glad to see a friendly face, even if he didn't know this particular individual personally. He didn't really know any angel personally, actually. Though at times like this, they were better company than nothing.

"You are unharmed?"

"Yes, I am well."

"You received some dreadful wounds before, my lord," the angel pointed out nonchalantly. "What has become of your escorts? Did they not bear you to safely to the medico? We can arrange for your safe passage off of Derris-Kharlan soon enough if-"

" They are all dead, unfortunately. I do not know why I was left alive by the beasts that killed them, but I suppose I should be grateful that I now have the opportunity to avenge them. And I refuse to leave here until the safety of everyone else aboard can be assured." He made to excuse himself, when something occurred to him.

"Did you say you'd arrange for my passage off of Derris-Kharlan if I so desire it?" The angel nodded slowly. "You can do that? How?" Kratos could barely contain the growing excitement in his voice. Perhaps it wouldn't be that hard after all.

"Yes, my lord. Though we are out of range of the beacon within the Tower of Salvation, there is still a way to return to Symphonia." Kratos nodded and hid his surprise. He had completely forgotten about the teleporter to the tower. However, he noted that it had likely been for the best. The enemy likely had seized it, and trying to fight his way towards it would have surely meant death.

"Tell me, where is this last avenue of leaving Derris-Kharlan?"

"Within Vinheim, hidden behind the throne of our former lord, Yggdrasil, there is an ancient artifact of a time that has long passed from all memory. This, is the greatest secret of Derris-Kharlan, and only Yggdrasil's perfect beings know of it." Kratos thought he could almost detect a hint of disgust in the angel's voice as he finished. Of course, it was likely impossible thanks to his cruxis crystal, but none the less it sounded like the angel had expressed some measure of disgust.

"I can't help but wonder why I was never told of this..." thought Kratos aloud.

"Lord Yggdrasil didn't believe you or any of Mithos' companions could be trusted to know the full extent of his treachery. He eradicated and debased an innocent soul and an alien culture ancient beyond reckoning to further his own dark ambitions. There was no limit to which he would not go to seek..." The angel grew suddenly silent, staring at the ground and muttering to himself.

"Yes? What did he seek?" Knowing that there were secrets Yggdrasil would keep from his closest friends invoked a strange bout of curiosity in Kratos. What could be so horrible as to not trust his closest friends with the knowledge, but to trust legions of mindless beings with it instead. Unless...there was more to the angel's purpose then met the eye? Kratos could only fathom what Yggdrasil may have really been after all those years, with perhaps Martel's resurrection only serving as a mask for his true madness. He could only hope he was wrong.

"I am sorry, Lord Kratos. I am not allowed to disclose that information to you. I have already said to much. We will of course be going with you to Vinheim, but the enemy has occupied it. If we are to ensure greater victory by leaving and living to fight another day, we must retake the palace and destroy the exit once we are through."

"Surely it won't be as easy as you make it sound. The enemy have to know that the palace has extreme strategic value. They won't give it up without a ferocious fight. How many do we have ready to fight and leave when the time comes?"

"Nearly all of our forces." The angel gestured behind Kratos with a wave of his hand. Kratos was taken aback at the sight of almost half a million angels standing ready in battle formation. They all hovered in the air in a multi-layer formation, ready to surge forward and flood over the enemy in and instance with an almost never ending tide of cold steel and magic. The mass of white of the standard angelic soldiers and the black of the elite seraph guard filled his vision, and he could only barely see the top of the formation after straining his neck as far back as it would go.

"That will do..." muttered Kratos under his breath as he turned back to the angel. "When do we attack?"

"At your command, my Lord Kratos."

"So we're all leaving then? Every one of you?" Kratos asked, thinking back to what the angel had said of achieving greater victory by leaving to live and fight another day.

"Yes. With you out of commission, the council decided, before they were overrun and slaughtered, that we must undertake a mass exodus of Derris-Kharlan. It has been our home for ages, and it enrages us to let it fall into the hands of these beasts. As long as you are not opposed to it, we will move forward with our intended plan. Our hope is that these creatures will stumble upon the madness Yggdrasil sought so hard to hide, and that it will destroy them, allowing us to one day reclaim Derris-Kharlan and make it our own again."

"I have no objections with that course of action. It is a sound plan, and I will honor the deaths of the wise minds of the councils by seeing it through to the end. When the time comes to retake this place from the hands of these beasts, I will be with you all."

Kratos directed his gaze towards the glowing beacon which marked the entry to Vinheim as the angelic general beside him nodded his thanks to Kratos' acceptance and kind gesture. The orks guarding it were slaughtered by angels as he watched, the victorious defenders of Derris-Kharlan then flying to join in formation with their comrades.

Looking around at all the dead, both ork and angel, Kratos felt a deep rage come over him. So much grief had been caused by this place. So much suffering and loss. So many families and countless lives torn apart forever, all because of Derris-Kharlan and the madman who took advantage of its power. Kratos knew the angels revered it as something akin to a holy place. It was the only home they'd ever known. To lose it would likely crush their resolve. But to let it remain, he realized, meant a constant threat to Symphonia if these creatures possessed it.

"How would one destroy Derris-Kharlan remotely?" he asked slowly, his back to the angel.

The angel was slightly horrified. This angel truly had been high ranking if it possessed some emotion. None the less, it regained its composure and lowered its voice to a whisper.

"Such an action...would be madness, my lord. So much untapped might would be forever lost...so many secrets, never unraveled... Our home, gone, forever! How could you abide such an act, let alone suggest it?"

"I care not for trivial secrets nor ancient technology. I've seen enough pain and suffering brought about because of this place and the madman who possessed it. I have little doubt that it may even be this place which drove him mad in the first place. And how would I abide it? Let me tell you." He walked up to the angel, staring straight up into the lifeless being's eyes. The angel flinched visibly under the ferocious gaze of the seraphim. "I could abide because I have no other choice. Symphonia is all we really have. Derris-Kharlan is but a construct. But Symphonia...it is immortal! And as long as Derris-Kharlan would stand in the hands of these monsters, Symphonia's future is threatened. And so we destroy it for a better future. Now tell me, how would I do this?"

"Normally such a decision would only be made by the council but...I suppose without them, its my hand that guides Derris-Kharlan's fate..." Pausing for a moment in quiet reflection, the angel appeared to be having a fierce mental struggle. Eventually, he broke his stare into space and looked towards Kratos intently.

"There...there is a timer that...can be set in Vinheim. Its built into the throne, guarded by Yggdrasil's most advanced security measures...but I can dismiss them. Once the countdown is initiated though, there's no reversing it." the angel said quietly, still reluctant but understanding Kratos' words fully. The general mass of angels were indeed mindless bodies, so they would go along with it easily. He only hoped the less mindless of the angels would see the good behind it.

"Thank you... Prepare yourself and your troops general, for now we go! To battle!"

As the angel flew over to join his fellow commanders and inform them of the new developments, Kratos turned to face the teleporter. His expression grim, he unfurled his shimmering blue wings and took to the air, backed by half a million angels. Without a word he headed for the teleporter, the angels following suit.

The final battle of Derris-Kharlan was about to begin. 

-

AN: I just realized I haven't really written about anyone on Symphonia much. There's one scene with Lloyd so far, but that's not really much to talk about... There are just so many different characters with their own views of the plot's proceedings!

Let's see, there's the view of Lloyd, Kratos, Kharn, the Guardsmen, and many more to come as I bring the other members of the ToS cast into the fold. Ah well...I guess its my own fault for making it so complicated. Oh well, as long as you guys can follow it, I don't care to much.

And is it just me, or am I making Kratos seem really out of character? I'm trying to picture him saying what I make him say as I write it, and it seems ok, so maybe its just me. But in any case, if I EVER start to write someone out of character, tell me immediately! And Kharn being out of character doesn't count since its pretty clear he's so insane it doesn't matter. The shit I'm putting him through sure doesn't help his sanity.


	8. The Dead City

AN: As a forward note, I use something in this chapter that wasn't in ToS originally. An airship, or basically a primitive airplane. My basis for it is this: after five years, the technology behind Rheiards would surely evolve. After five years alot has changed, so expect a bunch of funky stuff. That's to clear up any confusion there may have been otherwise. R&R, please!

Disclaimer: I own not the rights to Tales of Symphonia, nor the rights to one awesome franchise known as Warhammer 40,000! Now stay away, lawyers!

-

Zelos absentmindedly ran his hand over the pommel of his sword, his eyes closed and his head laid back against the head rest of his seat. His long red hair lay in an unkempt mess, dangling over his shoulders and behind his seat as he snored quietly.

He scratched at an itch on his chest which went unscratched, due to the silver breastplate blocking the path of his fingers. In his sleep however, he believed he had gotten it, and he moved his head to the side ever so slightly as he readjusted himself.

This slight change in movement however, was all that was needed for his head to begin to slide down the left half of his headrest. The movement was ever so slow, and the sound of barely subdued snickers could be heard as his mouth fell wide open and he let out a tremendous snore akin to a loud grunt.

As the airship hit a strong bout of turbulence, he was done in. Falling suddenly to the left, his head hit not the soft seat next to him, but his own shield, which had not been placed there by him. With a distinct metallic clang echoing briefly throughout the room, Zelos leapt up and clutched the side of his head tightly, swearing quietly and dancing about in pain.

When he realized all eyes were on him, he stopped, looking around with an annoyed glint in his own eye as he rubbed his rapidly forming bruise.

"Alright...who did it?" he asked through clenched teeth. He glared at each of the soldiers seated before him in turn, wincing occasionally at the sharp pain in the side of his head, though it was beginning to subside.

None of them moved an inch, not meeting his gaze. They were after all, just fresh recruits, many of which had only received their positions in the royal guard through family connections. Not one of them was prepared to face the wrath of one they took to be a hard eyed commander.

Of course, Zelos was not that. He himself was something of a fresh recruit, having only recently being given his post as commander of a battalion of the royal guard of Tethe'alla. However. his battalion happened to be one of younger and stuck up soldiers, most of whom were forced into service by their wealthy parents to gain status amongst the nobles or had bribed their way in. Thus, he had to deal with the childish antics of boys who had been pampered all their lives. Sadly enough, he could picture himself doing just about everything they did. As he presently was, there was little chance he would descend into such immaturity, however. Knowing what it was like to be the victim of such pranks changed one's feelings on the matter.

The pain in his head nothing but a dull ache, he turned away, walking over to his seat and picking up his shield and strapping it on his back. He glanced up towards the cockpit as he turned around to face his men, not noting any sign of change in the pilots monotonous activities.

"Well, as amusing as it may have been to you, it wasn't to me. Now I can tell none of you like your current positions. You'd rather be back, as would I, in Meltokio living off your parent's fortunes doing nothing for the rest of your days. Now though, you have to give back to the man who's allowed you to live such lives up till now."

"The king gave us this mission, knowing full well how...capable all of you are. He didn't see it as a very important mission, and neither do I. But even so, it must be done, and you must act like real soldiers. Like real men. You're not little children anymore, playing pranks on your hapless servants. If I were the hard-ass commander you seem to picture me ass, I'd have picked one of you at random and beat you to a bloody pulp by now."

Pausing in his speech to observe the soldier's reactions thus far, Zelos found they were looking around and shifting nervously in their seats. He had gotten to them, made them feel some pang of guilt and regret. Good.

"So, for the sake of not embarrassing the battalions of the royal guard who are actually noteworthy, try to act like adults. At least until this mission is through and you're all home safely."

Walking towards the cockpit, Zelos couldn't help but be amazed at himself. He really had come a long way he figured, to actually be giving such speeches. Five years ago, he never would have been able to do something like that, let alone imagine himself doing it.

Poking his head into the cockpit, Zelos found the pilot staring blankly ahead, through the windshield, pressing the occasional button and flipping the random switch. The secondary pilot was leaning against the wall next to his chair and snoring quietly.

"Pilot?" asked Zelos tentatively, tapping the man gently on the shoulder. "How far are we from our destination?"

The man, who looked to be in the final years of his prime, came back to reality with a start, suddenly jamming on several of the controls and causing the airship to almost spin out of control briefly. Regaining control , he panted heavily, looking back at Zelos with a look of horror on his face.

"Damn! You can't be sneaking up on people like that, Chosen! It just isn't a nice thing to do, and in this case its downright dangerous as you saw! Now what did you want, Chosen?"

"I'm not the...never mind." He shook his head and sighed, staring at the floor as he leaned against the side of the doorframe of the cockpit. "I asked you how far we are from our destination before you nearly killed us."

"Ah! Hah hah...yes, I nearly did, didn't I?" He took a moment to glance over at his assistant, who was still sleeping peacefully. "Stupid lazy bastard. Doesn't wake up when death stares him in the face. Well as for your question Chosen, we should be there..." Turning back to his control console, he made a few adjustments and turned back to face Zelos. "...momentarily. Within ten minutes or so, actually."

"Thank you, pilot. And try not to kill us when you land."

"Duly noted, Chosen. Although, wouldn't you say its a bit strange we haven't heard from the boys at ground control in Asgard yet? In my experience they've always been rather alert, at any time of day. More so than those idiots in Sybak, anyway. I swear, they'll give you so little help landing these blasted things you..."

Zelos stole away quickly as the pilot continued to yammer on, seemingly to himself. The joining in of a second voice showed that the other pilot had woken up and was chatting away with him about various flyboy jargon.

Retuning to his seat while the troops watched him nervously, Zelos couldn't help the feeling of unease that was beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. He personally wouldn't know anything about what the pilot meant when he said it was odd they hadn't been contacted yet by the operators of the landing zone in Asgard, but something about the whole idea seemed to unnerve him.

"Sir? What's going on?" one of the soldiers piped up, his voice somewhat shaky.

"We're going to be arriving shortly," replied Zelos blankly. "Get yourselves together, and have those blades ready. Something just doesn't feel right. But regardless of how it feels, remember: we're here just on light recon to see why Asgard hasn't made any communications for a week. If something goes wrong, I don't want any heroics. I don't enjoy telling parents that their son is dead. Got me?"

Nodding slowly in understanding, the troops began to strap on any armor they had taken off for comfort during the flight, and checking to make sure the blades of their swords were well honed. Seeing this, Zelos shook his head slowly and sighed. Only they would check for dulled blades after it was to late to sharpen them.

"S-Sir?" stammered one of the youngest and timid soldiers.

"What is it?"

"Do you hear that?" He indicated the air around him, as if something was buzzing around his head making noise.

"No, I don't hear anything at all. Any of you?" Zelos gestured towards the others, whom all shook their heads as they shot bemused glances towards the oddball soldier.

He looked quite flustered, as if angered that no one could hear what he heard. Standing up, he walked over till he was standing several paces from Zelos, who looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Sir! I DO hear something! Are you sure you can't!?" Zelos was rather concerned now. His voice was beginning to fill with panic.

"What is it that you're hearing, exactly?"

The soldier looked around, rubbing his hands together slowly and licking his lips as his body began to shake as if he was cold.

"I hear...I hear voices, sir."

"Voices?" Zelos could barely keep the grin off his face. So one of his men had gone off the deep end already? He wasn't that surprised. Half of them looked as if they were missing quite a few important circuits up there to begin with.

"More like...whispers. They're calling to me, sir. They're telling me to do things I know I shouldn't do. Things I will NOT do!" The man was thoroughly shaking now, and violently. It was a wonder he didn't fall over and hit his head as he staggered around, eventually collapsing at the feet of his comrades across from Zelos. Everyone stared at him with eyebrows raised, not knowing what to make of him.

Getting up, Zelos walked over and pulled him to his feet, grabbing him by the shoulders and staring straight into his eyes. His eyes seemed distant, filled with a strange sadness and anger all at once as they seemed to pierce straight though Zelos and everything beyond.

"I need you to tell me, soldier. What is it that these voices are telling you to do?" He quickly cast a glance at the others. "If I find this is another sick joke by one of you, there will be severe consequences."

The soldier suffering from the supposed voices focused his eyes on Zelos' suddenly, causing Zelos to flinch and look away. He felt as if a heavy weight had fallen on his mind and then been lifted seconds later. Something was not right at all.

"They...they want me...they want me to kill you...sir. They want me to take up my sword and drive it into the gut of each and every one of you, rending your head's from your shoulders and letting the blood pour forth in...in a great, rushing torrent of glorious carnage...!"

Zelos took a step back, horrified. His voice was growing bolder and firmer, as if he was beginning to enjoy what he was saying. Perhaps he truly was hearing voices, and becoming consumed by them no less.

"...then I am to take this craft and crash it into a village, killing even more and thus generating more...carnage...glorious carnage, sir!" He fell to his knees, holding his head in his hands as he sobbed quietly, occasionally snickering darkly in between sobs.

"Chosen! You might want to come see this!" The pilot could be seen leaning out of his seat, looking towards Zelos and indicating wildly for him to come to the cockpit.

Leaving the sobbing soldier in the care of his fellows, Zelos got up and walked briskly towards the cockpit. He walked in, about to ask what he was needed for when he caught a glance of what was outside through the windshield.

Asgard was burning! The very earth and air around the destroyed city seemed to pulse with livid reds, purples and pinks, casting eerie glows and shadows over the landscape. Great fissures split the streets, giving rise to long and twisting tendrils and dark pits which seemed to churn wildly with some kind of disgusting bile.

Worst of all, the corpses of the citizens could be plainly seen strewn about the streets in grotesque fashions, some missing most if not all of their limbs. Some even looked as if their skin had been torn off.

Suddenly, Zelos found himself wondering how he was able to see such little details so clearly. It was then he noticed just how low they were flying.

"Pull up, now! Now dammit!"

The pilots both pulled back hard on their controls, realizing just as Zelos had the folly of flying so close to a doomed city. Though they managed to gain quite a bit of altitude, it proved to be to late. There was a loud screeching sound, followed by the airship shaking furiously accompanied by the sound of twisting and snapping metal.

"We're hit! Martel preserve us! Hang on, Chosen! This won't be pretty!"

"Sir! Get back here, quick! He's lost it! Damien's gone insane! He's got hold of Jack!" Oh, its horrible!"

Zelos turned around, his jaw dropping in disbelief as Damien, the soldier who had complained of hearing voices, was savagely ripping another hapless man to pieces with his bare hands and teeth. What was worse, the other's were just standing there, transfixed by the sickening sight.

"Don't just stand there!" Shouted Zelos as he ran over, drawing his sword as he went. "Stop him! Get him off of him! I don't care how you do it!"

Taking his words to heart, a bolder soldier stepped forward and made to smash his shield over Damien's head. Before he could see it coming however, Damien turned his gaze towards him and drove his hand, adorned with a brand new set of razor sharp claws, through the poor soldier's chest plate and into his body, pulling back out the man's heart. He let out a final scream as he keeled over, dieing quickly as his other organs shut down from lack of blood.

Screaming in rage, Zelos stumbled across to the madman as the ship bucked and tumbled in its rapid descent. Raising his sword high in the air, he leapt as the airship went into a complete nosedive. The crazed man didn't move, as if he was bolted to the floor, and he just snarled viciously at Zelos as he laughed madly.

Zelos momentum carried him just within reach, however, and the insane Damien feel with a screech towards the cockpit, blood gushing from the grievous wound on the side of his neck. He landed with a dull thud amidst the others as they lay either side of the cockpit doorway in a pile, all of them moaning in pain from the sudden impact. Some clung to seats either side of Zelos and at the back of the ship, looking around frantically as they desperately tried not to let go.

The fifty foot long airship certainly seemed almost twice that in the current situation, meaning the fall looked all too painful, especially to those in the back. Zelos, pleased with himself at the disposal of the insane soldier, quickly lost heart as he realized he was falling too. He happened to be positioned perfectly so that he would fall right into the cockpit and onto the windshield.

He frantically grasped at the legs of the men dangling either side of his as he fell, desperately reaching out to grab onto the side of the doorframe. Barely an inch from it, his hand fell uselessly towards empty space as he fell past his last hope of salvation.

Screaming loudly in terror, he continued to plummet, smashing onto the windshield painfully. The pilots regarded him with shock and awe, but soon were staring at empty space as the glass shattered. Falling through open air, Zelos was unable to scream. As if in an act of final goodwill, the pilots managed to pull the airship out of its nosedive, if ever so slightly. At the least, if Zelos survived his fall, the airship wouldn't crush him.

And so the former Chosen of Tethe'alla plummeted through the open sky, and towards the damned city of Asgard below.

-

AN: I decided to cut it off there. Not sure why, really...Guess I just wanted to keep it short and simple. Or maybe, its because I have an enormous and action packed chapter coming up next...Kratos and the angels assault ork occupied Vinheim! Goody! Or maybe I'll make another short one that checks up on Larkson and friends or maybe follow up on Zelos' little adventure. It all depends what I feel like writing. Why not tell me which of the three you'd prefer?

And I just have this feeling that the front window of airplanes and such isn't called a windshiled...I don't know why. Anyone know? Is it or isn't it cause its kind of bothering me.

Tell me what you thought please! I'll try and update soon! Goodbye for now!


	9. Enter the Depths of Madness

-1AN: I, for once, actually like this chapter. A first, I know! I enjoyed writing it, for the most part. I was debating tacking on a scene with Larkson and Co., but I figured that would ruin the ending of this chappie. Plus, I seem to be on a role with consistent chapter length. Just around 3,000 words for each one. Not bad, I suppose. Well, enjoy it and review if you so wish to let me know what you think!

**A quick note to Warhammer 40K illiterates trying to stick with the story despite your confusion: **Please, DO pm me with any questions. I will be all to happy to answer them, so you may better enjoy this story.

Disclaimer: Tales of Symphonia is the property of Namco. Warhammer 40,000 is the property of Games Workshop. Seriously, I'm not rich. I don't own them. If I did, you think this would be a fanfiction and not a badass video game?

-

Zelos opened his eyes slowly, his vision fading in and out of darkness. Agony like none he had ever felt before coursed through every inch of his battered body. Even so, he forced himself into a sitting position, wincing at the exceptionally bad pain in his back.

Looking around wearily, making sure to move his head slowly to not increase the pain already present in his neck, he took in his surroundings.

Though he could tell he had landed in Asgard, or at least on the outskirts of the city, it looked almost nothing like what he remembered. Despite having seen the destruction of the once noble city from the airship, he saw it in a new light now that he was dwarfed by its presence.

The worst part of it was the ominous red glow which was cast over everything by the sky, which seemed to shimmer brightly as if it possessed a life all its own. Black cuts spanned across the red sky, as if it was wounded, and purple lightning crashed occasionally on the horizon.

Shakily getting to his feet, he gripped a small, dieing tree for support, careful not to put strain on any of his aching body parts. Looking around more clearly now that he had a better view, he saw he was on top of a tiny plateau that overlooked the roadway leading into the city. On the ground next to the road, there was a large, untamed patch of wild grasses that looked quite tall, though surprisingly mostly unmarred by the smoke and flame.

He absentmindedly marked that as a good thing for him, incase he had to hide from whoever, or whatever, destroyed the city. Angling himself for a better view, he leant against the tree fully, taking the time to work through the pain that gripped his whole body.

Watching the flames consume one of the canvases draped over an excavation site set in the side of the cliff face, something occurred to him. Communications incoming and outgoing from Asgard had ceased a week ago. That meant whatever did this, had done it a week before. With that in mind, Zelos found himself thoroughly confused. The fire's that consumed nearly every structure in the city surely would have burned it all to the ground in a week's time.

For some reason however, the fires went on burning, as if they had been lit and then did not consume anything else. How, then, did the fires not go out? With each moment that passed, Zelos found himself more and more confused. He tried to assure himself that perhaps the flames had only just recently started, but a dread feeling in the back of his mind told him that was just not the case. These fires had been burning since the initial attack, and they had yet to burn anything.

How did fires burn, but not destroy? And how did fires burn, not destroy, and continue burning even when they should have gone out from lack of fuel since they were not burning anything?

"To many questions..." he sighed. "Maybe...maybe the city itself will have answers."

Checking himself quickly, he found that he was in an acceptable condition. He was at least well enough to defend himself, and his sword was still in its sheath at his side, though most of his armor had taken a sound beating from his fall.

He grimaced at the dents and cracks in his chest armor, knowing how hard it had been for the smiths to forge this special order for him. It was crafted from steel imbued with pure mana, a near impossible process, but one that generated something of an aura around him, absorbing much of the shock from enemies blows and effectively increasing the overall protection of the armor tenfold. It had cost a small fortune, but what else would with his immense wealth?

He felt sorry for the poor fool who was charged with repairing it though, as the delicate process could take quite a long time.

At the moment, however, that was the least of his worries. He was alone, either merely separated from or the sole survivor of his squad. Guilt began coming to his mind, and the feeling made him feel almost ill. The thought of his men, young spoiled brats though they were, being dead killed him.

Had he failed them? Was he the reason they were now lying amongst the twisted metal of the airship, dead and dieing? Perhaps he should have paid more attention to the soldier who had complained of hearing voices, before he went mad. Perhaps he could have prevented that tragedy.

No. That, he realized, was beyond his control. Whatever had caused it, there was likely no way he could have prevented it. Even if there had been a way, he had no knowledge of what that was. But what of the airship crashing? Could he have stopped that?

Suddenly, he realized one very important detail: had the airship actually crashed? The last thing he remembered was falling through the windshield, gravity pulling him to earth faster than the airship, and the pilots pulling off a desperate maneuver, pulling out of the nosedive and careening off into the sky once again. He briefly recalled seeing the bottom of its hull looking like it had been torn to shreds.

They had been shot, he realized then. Likely by whatever had destroyed Asgard, and was likely still within the city...somewhere. It certainly was not as big as Meltokio, but Asgard was a very large city, and wealthy too. It was always surprising how many tourists wanted to stand and gawk at wall carvings and ruins and the like.

As such, it could afford much opulence. Many public displays of grandeur and power had been scattered about its streets, he recalled. Most likely it was an attempt to cover for the shady looking houses of the average citizen, and to draw eyes off the dusty dirt path which wound throughout.

Many of these monuments were quite large if he recalled correctly, and more likely than not, they had been destroyed with the rest of the city. That meant that large statues and the like were lying across the narrow paths and walks of the city. Finding anyone or anything within Asgard with many of its roads rendered impassible would likely be a trying task.

Still, if the airship had not crashed, the pilots likely would have set it down somewhere inside the city. And even if it had crashed, chances are it had done so within the city limits. Even if they were all dead, he would do everything in his power to complete the mission. It was all he could do to honor their memory at the moment if they truly were gone.

"If I do find them all dead," he muttered darkly. "I may still find the son of a bitch that shot us in the first place. At least then, they'll have been avenged."

Pushing himself off the tree with a slight stagger in his step, he bent low as he came to the edge of the tiny plateau. Lowering himself down carefully, he was surprised to see the drop off was higher than he thought, and he was dangling by just one hand for awhile until he managed to find a grip for the other one. Once down in the tall grass after several minutes, he bent as low as he could go, which left only the top of his head visible. Despite his red hair, which generally stood out like a sore thumb, he proved to be hidden very well as he moved through the grass.

It was made possible only by the dark red which was cast over the landscape, however. The sky, as he noted earlier, seemed to transfer its coloring to the earth almost seamlessly. Zelos couldn't help but shudder as he took his first, focused look at the sky above Asgard. No longer shimmering, it seemed to ripple and flow, almost like water. Like a raging sea...

"What the-? A sea...of blood? The sky is a sea of blood? Just what is going on here, anyway?"

His only answer the crackling of the flames which constantly attempted to consume all around him, he made his way into the damned city of Asgard. He would find the answers he sought within the dead city and complete his mission...no matter what.

-

He leaned over her limp form, his head lowered in sadness. Her body was battered so horribly, it was disgusting. Barely anything was left that left her recognizable as a woman, save her bloody face, her chest, and her nether regions, all of which were open for the whole world to see.

Other than that, she was a mangled heap of torn flesh and bone, nearly all her blood spilt upon the cold, dead earth. He absently caressed her face as his gaze drifted into space, trying to block out the horror that lay before him.

"So young..." he sighed. "So beautiful, and so full of life she had yet to live... Dammit!"

Tears began rolling down his cheek slowly, but he did not take notice. There was little sensation left on his bare skin, as the all the ash and dirt carried by the wind had left grime so thick, it would take tremendous scrubbing to clean himself off. His armor was faring no better, but at least it kept out the freezing wind.

Leaving the still form of Chocolat where she lied, he rose to his feet, casting a final, pain filled glance towards the poor girl. She truly had not deserved such a fate. None of them had of course, but the pain of seeing a familiar face amongst the senseless carnage was almost to much for him to take.

Stepping over the bodies of those who had been so close to escape, or perhaps the first victims, Zelos tentatively made his way onto the main street of Asgard. There was much clutter and rubble clogging the roads, and it took several minutes for him to navigate a large fissure that had split the earth and glowed with a dark pink aura. Just on the other side of the fissure was a large mound of dirt, apparently brought down when the fissure opened.

Jumping over the fissure and climbing the mound, he noticed a few hands reaching desperately from the soil. No doubt they were those of the poor souls who had been consumed when it came down upon them, and their final act of desperation was the only grave marking they would receive.

Nearing the top, he saw the large windmill that dominated the district of Inns and stalls frequented by tourists collapsed, its blade mysteriously missing. Pondering this, he misjudged his step and slid down the other side of the mound, to be consumed by darkness.

Luckily for him, nary a sound was made, and he had the sense, even through his shock, to not make a sound. Looking up, he found himself staring through the space between the mound of earth behind him, and a large stone slab in front. The slab was propped up against the cliff that towered above him to the left. In the darkness, he saw a sliver of light marking a space between the cliff face and the slab.

Pushing himself up, he walked quickly towards the light. Slipping through, he walked into what looked like a whole new world.

The earth was torn by abyssal fissures, from which furious pink flame shot into the air. Dark, twisting tendrils rose from the earth and twitched with violent motions. The corpses of scores of townsfolk were scattered about thickly, their bodies shredded and torn in ways unimaginable. It was as he had seen it from the airship, though the reality of it struck him as far more gruesome now that he saw it close up.

The same oddity as before struck him as odd once again. Seemingly burning for a week now, the fires that covered everything inside the city refused to destroy it, or to go out themselves. He pushed it from mind, deciding it was best not to dwell on something of trivial importance, anyway.

In front of him, just several yards away, was a patch of ground literally soaked with blood. In the center of this patch of tainted earth, was what appeared to be a small shrine. It consisted of a rock carved into a deeply ominous symbol: a circle, with eight arrows pointing outwards from its center, evenly spaced around its perimeter. The same icon was displayed with an foreboding red glow around the shrine, albeit much larger. From the center of the shrine, a ray of faint, pink light shone several yards into the sky, and tiny red and black lights swirled around it rapidly, traveling up and down its length in a constant pattern.

A red ether, like misted blood, covered the stairs that led up to the wind altar. Turning around to gaze at the large stone slab, he gasped and took a step back in shock. The slab was none other than the wind altar itself, torn from its foundations and, from the angle at which it laid compared to with its original angle, thrown to its current position.

"That...that can't...how..."

His startled ramblings were interrupted by a cry of indignation from behind him. Turning around, he found himself in a suddenly very precarious situation.

Holding a jagged and heavily rusted blade, a man covered in tattered and bloody clothes, identifiable as the garb of an ordinary Asgardian citizen, was standing at the base of the stairs. His face was covered in scars and grime, so that he was unrecognizable as who he may have been at one time.

The man's mouth began twisting into a smug grin. He took a step back slowly, and Zelos suddenly realized that he was preparing to bolt. If he got away, the others still inside the city would become aware of his presence.

Surprisingly, instead of making a run for it, the man charged at him, screaming wildly and hefting his crude weapon high above his head in preparation for a wild and vicious blow.

"Blood for the blood god!" he shouted insanely, in a high-pitched wail.

Zelos clumsily sidestepped the man's attack and drew his sword. He swung at his enemy, who barely made an effort to avoid the sword coming towards him, as if he didn't care whether he lived or died. With a screech he crumpled to the ground in a heap twitching lightly, Zelos' sword leaving a deep gash in the side of his head from which blood gushed out with astonishing speed.

Panting heavily, Zelos felt his blood run cold as he felt an immense weight come over his mind. Ducking back into the hiding spot between the mound and the displaced altar, he shivered uncomfortably as he watched the red mist. He could almost sense a very malicious presence coming towards him from there.

The heavy steps of metallic boots could be heard coming down the stairs obscured by the mist, though Zelos ducked in quickly to hide himself when he heard the sound of gravel crushing beneath them. Leaning out just enough so he could just barely see what was going on, he proved to be correct in his assumption.

Striding out of the mist was a horrendous figure. Standing at a height no man should be capable of achieving, and wearing armor which seemed so heavy no man should be able to physically carry it, the figure seemed to somehow complete the barbaric picture of Asgard in its tormented state.

Wearing an enormous battle axe with a jagged blade across his back, the great man took large, slow steps across the burning waste of what had been something of a main plaza for Asgard, before the disaster. Somehow, Zelos knew this was who was responsible for everything. This was the man who had destroyed Asgard, brought down the airship, and somehow drove one of his men to attack his comrades.

This was the bastard behind it all.

Zelos' grip on his sword tightened as he tensed his body, gritting his teeth in rage. Walking every nearer to Zelos' hiding place, the large man remained oblivious to his presence, and to Zelos' preparations to spring out and kill him.

Ducking back into hiding for a moment to mentally prepare himself, Zelos felt his heart stop as the light suddenly stopped flowing into his hiding spot. A deep, metallic voice whispered right in his ear.

"Hello, weakling."

An immense, gauntleted hand grabbed him roughly by the throat and carried him out into the red-tinted light, struggling in vain.

"I am Kharn the Betrayer, ignorant fool. Welcome to my city!"

-

AN: OOOH! No I didn't! Oh yes I did...a cliffhanger. And, if I may boast, I'd say that's the worst one I've ever left you guys with. Ha.

You know the drill, leave me a review if you have anything to comment on or just want to say hi. Otherwise, I'll try and update soon, so just sit tight till then. Peace.


	10. Warp Dreams and An Exodus

AN: I'm not 100 sure how a gellar field actually works...but I think I've gotten it well enough. Anyway, I didn't like writing this to much, just because it seemed so much like a chore...but the last part I did enjoy. But anyway, I need to know, from people who are devotedly reading the story(not many I think), does the flow seem off at all? I'm not sure, but perhaps the way I'm jumping back and forth throughout the chapters to different places is really making it seem...strange?

I'm to lazy to read them all in order and find out myself, you see...XD. In case none of you picked up on it by the way, after Kharn appeared and destroyed Asgard, nothing happened(nothing that I devoted a chapter to anyway) on Symphonia for about a week(except Kharn tainting the place and getting a bunch of crazed cultist lackeys). Then, Zelos was sent on a mission along with some of his men(he's a commander in the Tethe'allan military, in case you didn't pick up on that either) to find out what happened to Asgard...and so on. And since Larkson and the other guardsmen are traveling through the warp, they're kind of separate from normal time flow I guess. But just in case you didn't catch the subtle hint, they set off on their special assignment before Derris-Kharlan left Symphonia behind, which means they left during the happenings of the actual game. But traveling in 40K takes awhile so...

Whatever. Enjoy the chapter, Larkson's special moment in bed XD, and know I am seriously considering rewriting this thing for a 3rd and final time. If it doesn't work out then, well...fuck it. What do you guys think?

Disclaimer: All Tales of Symphonia stuff belongs to Namco. All Warhammer 40,000 stuff belongs to Games Workshop. Except Larkson and co. They're MY retarded creation! Mwahaha!

_-_

_Fire fell around him, surrounding him in a ring of fiery columns twice his height. A figure came down on the opposite side of the ring, its form hidden by the shadows. _

_A third figure fell into the center of the ring of fiery pillars, which was revealed by light shining from above. It was a young woman, standing almost naked in tattered and bloody clothes, with chocolate brown hair and eyes regarding him with sorrow. Her skin was pale, and her expression was that of absolute horror as she turned her head to look towards the second figure._

_Tears fell down her cheeks as she stumbled backwards, trying to escape the figure, which drew an immense sword which glowed an ominous purple and leapt towards her. _

_'Help me! Larky...!' she screamed, casting a pleading glance towards him as she continued to back away from the third figure._

_How did this woman, whom he had never seen before, know his name? And his nickname, no less. Nonetheless, he acted without hesitation, bringing up his lasgun and firing several shots at the figure, knocking it out of the air, which served only to infuriate it. It regained its feet and charged him, sword held high, aiming for the girl once again._

_'Don't let him kill me, Larky!' Her screams cut him like a knife. He had not the slightest idea why he felt so strongly for this girl._

_He charged the figure, drawing his combat knife and throwing his lasgun towards his foe. It caught the lasgun in midair with a sudden, jerking movement of its arm as it came to an abrupt halt, its form still obscured by shadows. Two glowing white eyes stared menacingly at him through the dark._

_Clenching its hand around the midsection of the lasgun, it snapped it in half, the splinters of the material scattering all around the ring of fire, the powerpack burning out with a quiet hiss as it skidded across the cold, stone floor._

_Pushing away his sudden fear of the figure, he leapt between it and the girl, drawing his bayonet and wielding it like a second dagger, putting himself in a fighting stance as he prepared for the attack. _

_It let its sword fall to limply to its side as it laughed, white eyes lost from view as its hidden head reared back to exemplify its point: it found him to be pathetic. _

_Rage at the mocking figure began to pulse through his veins as his whole body began to tense. The tension was released as he leapt, knife and bayonet held above his head. With all his strength he struck below its neck, seeking to sever its major arteries and kill it then and there instead of letting the fight get drawn out._

_There was a loud metallic clang as his twin blades were deflected off the figure's thick armor as easily as a feather. Vibrations jarred his hands painfully as he fell to the floor shamefully, screaming at the agony traveling all throughout his arms as his now ruined knife and bayonet, their blades bent so far they were nearly snapped off, fell with a dull thud to the floor._

_Stepping from the shadows, he was both enraptured and horrified by the man, his long blonde hair shimmering darkly as it hung loosely over his ornate black armor which pulsed like a beating heart with brilliant purple runes._

_'Let the thousand whispers of Slaneesh be the final thing your mortal mind hears...'_

_'Larkson! No! No! No!'_

_Fiery pain erupted in his abdomen as the man thrust the great sword into his stomach, ripping it out again roughly. Bending down to be level with him, the man began whispering heretical and vile things in his ear, and in his agony, he could do nothing to resist them. _

_Everything went black as the man brought the sword down onto his neck, severing it instantly. He could faintly hear the girl's screams of agony through the void in which he now was falling, and it made his blood boil, though he knew not why it did._

'_Save the girl or save the world,' a new, deep voice boomed above the screams. "..the choice is yours. But beware...you may not survive...'_

_-_

Larkson came awake with a start, his head barely missing the bottom of the bunk above him, where Jamei was snoring quite loudly. Rubbing his eyes clear of dirt and grime, of which the filthy ship had in no short supply, he lay back down with a sigh, his heart pounding in his chest.

Warp dreams. He had heard about them, sure. But to experience one first hand was something else entirely. What was worse, was when you had a recurring one, one that returned to you every night and, almost like a story, seemed to progress slowly every night.

But always, always, were they terrifying. Even if what you dreamed of during them was not frightening in the least, you would wake up in a cold sweat, scared half to death and panting heavily. Generally because no matter what it was you dreamed off, the madness of the warp would find a way to take at least the final moments and turn it into something absolutely terrifying.

His current dream was of some concern to him. It was far more vivid than he was used to from his two weeks in the warp (though time was known to be rather wacky while in the warp, even with a gellar field), and as he rubbed his swore arms and stomach, and did his best to work through the stinging pain in his neck, he couldn't help but feel it was real somehow.

If the pain had seemed real enough, perhaps the strange man and the girl were as well, he wondered?

He chuckled as he lay back down onto the surprisingly soft bedding. More than likely they were result of his stressful mind, but the supposed nature of the warp lead him to think otherwise. Perhaps they were the lost souls of so many others damned to wander the warp for eternity. They had, he mused, probably forsaken the Emperor's light, and thus had been denied passage to paradise with him as all his faithful subjects were.

The thought suddenly unnerved him greatly. If damned souls might penetrate the gellar field enough to affect his dreams, then he shuddered at the thought of what other, stronger things might have gotten in. The idea of daemonic possession was an all to horrifying, yet possible one.

He prayed that if it happened to anyone, it wouldn't happen to him. Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to silence the little voice in his head telling him he was a selfish bastard. After a fashion, he succeeded, but the final words of his warp addled dream took its place.

"'Save the girl, save the world,'" he muttered. "'The choice is yours...But you may not...survive?'" He yawned and turned over, staring at Aidin as the man endured a fitful sleep, always turning this way and that, as if he could never quite find that final bit of comfort in his bedding.

"Perhaps he's having a damned warp dream, as well. Poor guy. At least, I don't think I thrashed about during mine, though I'd have no way of knowing. But I may not survive? I wonder...if dreams spawned of the warp can be prophetic? Maybe...Maybe Lonai would know. Yes, I'm sure that crazy old dotard would know, if I can decipher the riddles he insists on talking in..." He trailed off with a grumble as he rolled onto his stomach, lying with the side of his head pressed into the pillow, the thrashing form of Aidin still visible.

As best he could, he disregarded the odd smell and the realization that the pillow had likely been used by thousands of other men during the ship's lifetime as a troop transport. He also tried to ignore the good chance the pillow was only washed every century or so. He prayed silently that drooling was a rare habit amongst men, or at least any of the ones who had used the pillow before him.

"But damn...that girl in the dream...she was...hot..." he mumbled sleepily, rolling onto his back as he felt his pants grow steadily tighter around the crotch. His mind began doing decidedly dark things to the girl as a smile spread across his lips, his hand itching to help his mind along.

As suddenly as they came though, he pushed the thoughts from his groggy mind, realizing that, in the warp, thoughts like that could be disastrous, gellar field or not. It would be like a magnet for Slaneeshi daemons.

He had the faint feeling however, that being possessed by a sex-crazed daemon of Slaneesh would be a slightly more pleasant experience, if ever so slightly, than being possessed by one of Nurgle or Khorne, the former especially. Though he had no doubt that being possessed by anything was not something he'd wish to go through in the first place, regardless of what kind of daemon it would be.

Larkson gave a final shudder at the thought, and pushed the last dark images of the girl from his mind. His mind returned to its helpless state of deep sleep and dreaming, to be gawked at and fawned over by the daemons of the warp. His only protection from possession, insanity, or worse; a gellar field which, strong as it was, did little to ease his fears.

-

Black alien blood covered everything. It stained his clothes darker than the latest hours of night. It clung to his bare skin like a thick paste, coagulating and hardening on him like mud.

Sparse blots of red dotted the blackness, and he knew, even in his battle weary mind, what is was. It was his blood, and that of all those around him who fell, their corpses mangled viciously by the cruel hands of the invaders.

His body ached so badly, he was hardly aware of what he was doing, let alone what was going on around him. Yet above all else, the colors black and red stood out. The vicious carnage of war stood out. But he didn't pale at the thought of it, the thought of those who left it behind as he had done four thousand years before in the great war.

He wasn't slaying his own kind, people caught up in a conflict beyond their understanding like he had been then. Now he was fighting an enemy which, as far as he could tell, held no compassion or care at all.

Monstrous green-skinned barbarians, with their great axes and cleavers and long barreled weapons which spewed death faster than the eye could follow. Creatures with not a care in all the world for the lives they took and destroyed with every swing of their immense blades.

This fight was just, he told himself. The slaughter was just, the carnage was just.

Fatigue had done its work on him, however, and no longer did he valiantly swing his blade with those thoughts. Now, he fought only to stay awake and keep going, to block out the pain of his countless wounds and to continue driving his blade into his foes. There was no longer time for him to dwell on the nature of his foe. He merely killed them like a machine, as did the so many mindless angels around him, the corpses of their fallen comrades twisted grotesquely and stacked atop one another in a pile many feet deep that covered nearly the entire floor.

Pulling his sword weakly from the twitching corpse of an ork, he stumbled forward, his feet tripping up amongst the bodies. Before he fell to the ground to join the thousand of corpses already there from the many hours of fighting, he sunk his blade into an unsuspecting ork's chest, causing it to squealed in agony, its blood gushing from the wound and adding to the many layers of it already stuck to his person.

Using the dieing ork's body and his sword stuck in it as leverage, he regained his balance, just in time. He leaned to the left and spun away on his heel, the desperate swing of the ork missing as he yanked his sword free and brought it down on the nape of its neck, killing it instantly as its head was severed.

Stepping over the fresh corpse, he found himself beset by many raging orks. Several angels rushed up behind him, brandishing their spears fiercely and impaling a few before the orks charged forward, screaming their obnoxious war cry and cleaving the angels to pieces. Leaping over their heads, Kratos landed nimbly on a larger pile of charred bodies, elevating himself above them.

They rushed him, again screaming, leaping and falling miserably short in many cases. One had more momentum than the others, and it came at him like a great green bullet of fangs and muscle, laughing like a mad man before he swung two handed at it with his sword, cleaving off the top half of its head and sending its corpse toppling down on top of its allies.

Now surrounded by angry and eager looking orks seeking to climb the pile of bodies and disembowel him, Kratos threw caution to the winds and leapt into their midst, slashing and hacking and stabbing away with reckless abandon, no longer caring for his own well being.

Cutting open a deep gash in a greenskin's throat with a powerful uppercut, Kratos saw from the corner of his eye the ranks of angels advancing over the bodies of their foe and comrades, hovering slightly above ground to avoid the difficult footing.

He paid them no heed as he returned to his bloody work, hacking open a greenskin's skull and sending it spiraling to the floor, its brains spilling out in gloriously gory fashion as its allies slipped and tumbled on the slick mess.

Smashing another between its squinting and angry eyes with the pommel of his blade, he delivered a vicious kick to the same ork's midsection, sending it stumbling backwards into the closing ranks of angels, who tore the suddenly hapless monster asunder in moments.

More came at him, scores more of the things, but he was no longer struggling onward through the bodies alone. The massed host of the angels swelled up behind him and surged forward, smashing into the greenskins and shattering their momentum as they skewered and eviscerated the beasts on spear and sword.

Swinging two-handed to cut deeply into an ork's chest, he snatched the dieing thing's cleaver out of its hands as it collapsed. Now wielding a weapon in either hand, a sudden surge of memories came to him, of a young man who struggled against all odds to save the world that now could be damned by these monsters... He suppressed them in an instant, knowing he was not in a situation that permitted such thoughts.

He wreaked devastation aside the angelic warriors, whom despite their soullessness, seemed to possess a great anger and extremely vicious disposition towards the greenskinned invaders.

"Come on! Slaughter the greenskin bastards!" he cried, completely uncharacteristic of him. The cry seemed to spur the angels onward however, and they looked to redouble their efforts at killing the foe, who was dropping like flies now that they faced a determined mass press of angels, instead of the scattered one on one bouts throughout the palace that had made up the bulk of the fighting after the initial clash.

An ork more massive than Kratos had ever seen before reared its ugly head in the middle of the greenskin host as they pressed down the stairs in a desperate attempt to drive away the white robed menaces who packed far more combat prowess than they seemed to have thought at first.

Kratos narrowed his eyes at it spotted him, and the rest of the battle seemed to disappear as they shoved aside ally and foe alike to reach one another. Taking in his opponent, which stood many feet taller than its smaller brethren who already stood many feet above him and the angels in most cases, he found reason for concern.

Instead of hands, it seemed to possess in their place long claws which flexed and moved individually like fingers. They crackled with electrical energy, small bolts leaping periodically between the claws. Its skin was a much darker shade of green than the others, though there was little left bare to be seen. Thick armor, spattered with patches of dried blood and gore and turned a dull rusty grey from neglect, covered most of its body.

Links of chain mail could be seen connecting the armor at the joints, allowing the beast maximum flexibility while hardly compromising its defensive capabilities at all. Though most of its head was covered by a straight-horned helm of similar nature to the armor, the large bucket bottom jaw with its massive tusks was still visible, and there was much evidence to suggest that it had gored many hapless victims with the great teeth.

Before he knew it, the massive thing was upon him, lunging outwards with its great claws and striking downwards to drive him into a bloody mess against the stone and the bodies underfoot.

He dodged nimbly, hesitating briefly as the massive beasts rose to its full height before him. It had to be more than twelve feet tall, he realized, and its arms bulged with muscles through its armor as thick as the columns that held up the roof of the palace.

Noticing his lapse of concentration, it moved in again, striking out at him viciously and snarling each time he managed to pull of a miraculous dodge.

Stepping slightly to the left as it brought its left claw down for another attack, Kratos was pleased to see the force of the blow had been so great, the brute had lodged its weapon in the floor. Leaping onto its arm, he scurried up as it swatted at him desperately, straddling its neck with his legs and hacking at the claws as it sought to throw him off.

Its other claw came loose suddenly, and the sudden release caused it to stumble back, almost falling over. An agonized gurgling escaped its mouth as Kratos clenched his legs together to hang on. Not waiting for it to fully steady itself, he threw the cleaver wildly, lodging it into its lower back.

Crying out in pain, it arched its back as it fell to its knees. As it tried to stand up again, growling angrily, he took his legs from around its neck and stood on its nape, holding tightly onto the rim of its helmet so he did not fall into the raging battle below. If he did, he would be cut to pieces and trampled in moments as both sides were to oblivious to notice a body falling amongst them.

He did not fall though, and instead lifted his sword up high and drove it deep into the base of its skull with both hands gripping the hilt tightly. It roared loudly, and much of the noise of the battle below died down as all eyes went to the wounded giant as it stomped about in its death throes.

With a final grown it fell forward, crashing loudly to the ground and crushing many angels and greenskins beneath its bulk. Kratos was flung violently from its corpse, landing in a heap amongst the angels, his sword still in his hands and covered in deep black alien blood.

He gasped for breath, the wind knocked out of him from the impact, as he fought hard just to sit up. The angles immediately around him parted, and he noticed he could no longer hear the sounds of fighting as before.

Struggling to regain his feet on the uneven footing of the corpses beneath him, he saw the angles finishing off the greenskins on the stairs who still fought on, despite the death of their champion, which seemed an appropriate term for the beast.

The surviving orks were running back up the stairs, climbing over the bodies of their dead and their champion, crying out insults and vows of revenge to the angels behind them. Angels were staggering and fluttering weakly back to their formation, some looking similar to the mangled corpses underfoot due to the severity of their wounds.

Looking around, he surveyed the site of the battle. The main plaza of Vinheim was in tatters, its columns torn down and its walls pockmarked with holes and blood and scorch marks.

The large catwalk above was littered with dead greenskins and the angels who had flown up to engage them. Many corpses hung precariously over the railing, and quite a few looked ready to fall any moment. Blood dripped from their corpses, and Kratos could envision a curtain of blood flow that fell from the edges of the catwalk.

Looking towards the ground, he noted the limbs and other body parts, both internal and external, that lay about. The result of the angels magic and the greenskin's great weapons before the melee had ensued. The sight of both angels and orks being blown limb from limb would forever be etched into his mind.

"Lord Kratos." He looked up to see the same angel from earlier. It clutched its spear weakly and Kratos noted the many small wounds that covered its body. It had likely had a run in with one of the strange long barreled things, but had avoided death most likely because nothing vital was hit. Blood loss seemed to be taking quite a toll on it, however.

"Speak, Seraph..." he wheezed, his heart still pumping rapidly as he struggled to get enough air in his lungs. "What do you...have to report?"

Turning with a slight limp so it was facing the main stairway just like Kratos was, the angel cradled its spear in its left arm which hung limply, and gestured weakly towards the stairs with its right.

"The creatures have retreated into the throne room. Very few are left, lord."

Kratos looked around at the bodies and frowned.

"Its strange. I thought there would have been far more of them here." The angel nodded slowly in agreement.

"Most likely this was not the main force. I heard earlier rumors the main force was rampaging through the deeper levels, destroying the armories, labs and bio-domes. As if they're looking for something down there. Perhaps..."

"Yes?" Kratos perked up, now wandering if there perhaps was a reason for the creatures' presence on Derris-Kharlan, and that it wasn't just a random occurrence. "Perhaps what?"

"It is nothing, lord. I was merely...reflecting on bygone times..."

Kratos felt a sudden surge of anger uncharacteristic for him.

"Do not try and feed me such idiotic excuses, Seraph. You do not have the emotional capacity for that. Now what the hell were you about to say?" Without a change in expression, the angel just shook its head.

Stepping towards the stairs with a limp, it gestured for Kratos to come as the surviving angels advanced.

"Come, my lord. We must set this place to detonate and flee, as you said. There are secrets here, my lord, ancient and terrible secrets, which not even you should learn of, let alone barbarians such as these." It glanced towards the charred bodies of greenskins that had been killed by the angels fiery magic. "It is best for them to be swallowed in the flames and be lost to the void, lord."

Realizing the angel lord was right, Kratos hurried for the throne room with the rest of the angels. Despite what he wanted to think, the angel was right. Some things were better left unknown, and lost from knowledge forever. Especially if those things were what drove poor Mithos so mad, which Kratos had a feeling they were.

-

It had gone unchanged from the last time he had been inside. The main throne was still sitting up on its elevated platform, separate from the small balcony he was standing on. The large rocks and other debris still floated about in the void in between.

Now though, the void was glowing a very violent assortment of purples, reds, and blacks instead of the orange he remembered. Bolts of lightning streaked across it every now and then, and there was a very quiet but deep laughter which seemed to serve as thunder.

"Lord, look there." An angel was pointing towards the throne platform, where several orks, plus one very large one, were staring menacingly towards them.

"Let us proceed," he said calmly.

Kratos stepped towards the teleporter, followed by a steady flow of angels. There were many thousands of them gathered throughout the palace, awaiting their turn to pass through and leave Derris-Kharlan. First though, Kratos had to find wherever the secret gate to Symphonia was. He had never noticed anything like that here before...

"Ahhh! Humiez! What youz think youz doin ere, eh!? This place now belong to da orkz," screeched one of the green brutes as they materialized on the throne platform.

Kratos glared towards the ork who had spoken, drawing his sword and giving it a glare to silence it. The larger ork, a massive creature that bore so many metallic parts that it looked almost more like a machine then a living thing, took it a step farther, and grabbed the smaller ork and beat it savagely.

"Shut it ya little git! Ize da boss ere, and Ize da only one whoz doin da talkin!" The smaller ork twitched weakly, its broken body gushing blood. Kratos was both horrified and somewhat amused by the display of savagery. They didn't seem like they'd be that hard to turn against one another...

"An you, ya worthless gretchin! What you want, eh? Speak quick before I croak ya!"

Hiding his distaste at being called a 'gretchin', which clearly was not a term of endearment, Kratos rested his sword in the ground, hand wrapped around the pommel, giving him a less hostile appearance so as not to instigate the brute further. The fact that the creature was very big, at least twice his height, and that the platform was quite small was not lost on him.

"You have taken many innocent lives today. I have no love for your kind...I would like to see you all burn in Hell for what you've done. But, if you would be so reasonable as to step aside, we may avoid more unfortunate bloodshed. We're leaving, you can do with this place as you wish." He spoke carefully, keeping his tongue in check. As much as he despised it, he couldn't start a fight with this beast.

From the sounds of things, this was the leader. The beasts seemed mindless enough that they might follow their leader fanatically. Or they may follow him out of fear. Kratos did not know, but he could not risk it. If he killed their leader, there was always the chance every one of them, every one of their seemingly endless host, would rush in and fanatically try and avenge its death. Given that he did not know much about the nature of his enemy, such caution was wise, he realized.

"An if we don let ya pass?"

Kratos raised his sword menacingly. "We'll kill you." He swore under his breath afterwards, realizing to late what he had let slip. The brute may take his words as a challenge, and then he'd have to kill it.

The ork 'boss' seemed to ponder the situation for a bit, its face screwed up in a rather retarded expression as it seemed to have great difficulty in processing such little bits of information. It didn't in the least look offended by his harsh words. It was almost as if it didn't think of him as a legitimate threat. The thought succeeded in angering Kratos greatly, and he found his hold on his tongue weakening quickly.

"Two choices. Step aside or die. Surely you can't think to long on that little?" Kratos added curtly.

"Shadup ya little squiglover! Youz da one who gone an killed ma right an', now izn't ya? I guess you can fight den, eh? So maybe I should be treatin you as a threat den, eh? But I was born for fightin not thinkin! But ya know what I be thinkin now anyway?"

"Yes?" Kratos asked halfheartedly, barely following the random gibberish which poured from the creature's mouth.

"Ya forgot to mention my other option, ya did."

"Did I?"

"Yea! Dis!" The ork pulled forward a rather fat ork, which wore a heavy metal apron stuffed with all manner of strange gadgets and tools. "I am Warboss Gutzmar Worldburna, humiez! And I say, get us outa here ya useless mech!"

There was a bright flash of yellow and orange light as the fat ork pulled out one its tools, and then the orks were gone, all save the one who had been beaten violently by the 'Warboss'. It still writhed violently as it hemorrhaged dark blood from many wounds. Kratos walked over to it, bending down and placing his sword at its thick neck.

"Answer my questions, and I'll ease your passing," he spat.

It looked up at him through misty eyes, a look of deep contempt evident in them. Even so, it nodded weakly in agreement.

"Who sent you? I'm no fool. I know an invasion this coordinated can't just happen randomly, by a bunch of aliens who've never set foot inside Derris-Kharlan before. Who put you up to this?"

It gagged violently, spitting up a gout of blood into Kratos' face who did his best to ignore his violent urge to kill the ork and the awful smell which threatened to make him throw up.

"Ya stupid humiez...youz all gunna die even if I would tell you...but I...guess it don't really matta now..." It closed its eyes and breathed deeply, coughing up more blood. Its speech had become very fractured and ragged. "C-C...Ch...a...os...boyz...A...hu...mie...ju..st...a pun..y...little...humie...f..r..om...da Eye...

It shuddered once, and then went into a series of violent convulsions, spitting up impossible amounts of blood. Kratos quickly cut off its head more to stop the disgusting spectacle than to ease its pain. He stood and turned to the angel. "A human from the 'Eye'?

"Lord, I do not know of anyone from an 'Eye', though Lord Yggdrasil knew a great many mysterious figures whom he kept well hidden. It also spoke of 'Chaos Boys'. That does not sound familiar either."

"There isn't anything to be gained by standing here thinking about what it could have meant," said Kratos, turning towards the solitary throne. "That 'Warboss' escaped, so we can assume he'll gather together more of these 'orks' and mount a counterattack to try and pin us in the palace."

"Then we shall leave," said the Seraph General, stepping towards the throne quickly despite its limp. "I recall it being somewhere...around...here..."

It pressed something on the back of the throne, and part of the right arm rest retracted to reveal a small panel of keys. "Step back, lord."

Kratos shuffled back to stand next to the other angels that had come through the teleporter so far. Glancing behind him, he saw the long line of angels awaiting their turn that trailed all the way throughout the palace. He wasn't exactly sure how many had died in the battle, but considering that the entire palace had been the battlefield and not just the main entrance before the staircase where he had been, he assumed many, many thousands had fallen.

After it pressed a few keys, a small holographic image of a small screen appeared in front of the throne. The angel sat down in the throne, and pressed a few more keys in rapid succession. A thin ray of light shot out from the screen, and traveled down the length of the throne, apparently scanning the angel.

"_Webway access request: accepted. Connection to webay network established. Symphonian Gate activated. Travel safely, child of Isha," _a light, ethereal voice spoke as if from nowhere.

There was a quiet humming noise, when suddenly the floor in the center of the platform opened up and a strange structure rose slowly from the secret compartment. It was like a one sided arch, the open side of it having a round ball of light which crackled furiously like electricity, short beams similar in nature jumping from the ball to small nodes on the inside of the half-arch.

"Come, lord. We must leave..." said the angel, pressing a final key set and striding for the structure.

"The detonation?"

The angel turned around slowly and pressed a single key, followed by a few more, and the hologram changed to show a countdown sequence, which began in an instant.

"Twenty minutes, lord. Just enough time to get us all through. Now come..."

Stepping towards the half arch, the angel suddenly vanished, pulled into the tiny ball of light in the blink of an eye. Despite his apprehension, Kratos followed suite, darkness consuming him as he traveled a path not traveled in millennia.

-

"Oh Kratos...Stubborn as always, aren't we?"

"Wez gunna be dealin wit dat twit till da bitter end, you think?"

"Oh yes, Gutzmar. Without a doubt he and those failed 'Angelus Perfecticus' will tamper with out plans till the bitter end..."

The man strode forward slowly towards the throne, stepping around the smoking ruins of the half-arch thought which Kratos and the angels had vanished minutes previous. His two 'friends' followed him along solemnly, the leash tied tight around their necks tightly as they shivered, holding onto and groping one another as was their nature.

Now it served the second role of keeping them warm, as most of the heating systems had gone offline when the self-destruct was initiated.

"Tsk tsk tsk. Kratos, Kratos, Kratos... Such ignorance you do possess. A meager attempt to blow up Derris-Kharlan will not stop plans that have been brewed for millennia. Ever since those succulent bastards sought refuge on this accursed world and sealed everything out...no more!"

He smashed a tight fist down onto the keyboard, and it sparked with electric surges which snaked violently around his hand as the hologram image flickered and died.

"_Self-destruct sequence aborted. Systems returning to normal protocol."_

"They don know who they'z dealin wit! Harharharhar!"

"Silence, Gutzmar! That is no evil laugh! This is an evil laugh: Hahahahahahahahahahaha! Ahhahahhahaha! AHHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

The Ork chieftain cringed at the sound, suppressing a shudder. His underlings standing nearby did the same.

"Er, right, sir. That is quite a good evil laugh..."

-

Hmm. A long one for a change. Well, review if you want. I mean you don't have to, but I'll call exterminatus on you if you don't. Some of you don't know what that is. Hmm...well...think nuclear explosion times a thousand or so. Not fun.

I'll update as soon as I can, but no real promises.


	11. Important announcement, please read!

-1 am taking a SERIOUS look at this story and everything I had planned for it. After playing through Tales of Symphonia for the first time in awhile, I realized there is a lot of crap I left out and messed up on. And I've done some extensive research on the warhammer stuff that was going into this and found I messed up a lot on that, too.

So, I will be reading through this myself and analyzing it, looking to see just how bad I messed up. If I find its actually not THAT bad, then I will go on with it. Since it is my first story(well, the first one I've left up for more than a few weeks) I can't expect to make it perfect, now can I?

If I hate what I see, I will either:

a) Go back and do major revisions to either the entire story or just the chapters that don't quite cut it or

b) Rewrite the whole story from the ground up, making it better than freaking ever. If I do write it again, just know that it will be absolutely godly and put the other two attempts to SHAME.

Whatever happens, I WILL finish this story and I have great things planned for it. Just remember that, and don't lose faith in me please! You've all been very kind so far and I will keep writing this for your sake as much as my own!


End file.
